Would You Like Lembas With That?
by Lyrical Ballads
Summary: [Discontinued] Haldir experiences the joy and pain of working in a fast food restaurant. Oh, if only he had gone to college.
1. Welcome to Elf-in-the-Box

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Lord of the Rings_.

**Author's Note:** I've always wanted to write a modern-day comedy featuring the _LotR_ characters, so here it is! I usually don't write humor and I'm completely out of practice, but this silly little idea has been building in my mind and wouldn't leave me alone.

* * *

**Would You Like Lembas With That?**

Welcome to Elf-in-the-Box

Haldir straightened his nametag and stood listlessly in front of the cash register. Another boring day at work. Haldir worked at Elf-in-the-Box, the #1 fast food chain in the big city known as Middle-earth, and he was about ready to fall asleep when the tinkling of a bell suddenly got his attention. Great, a customer. Customers were both a blessing and a curse as far as Haldir was concerned.

Faramir shuffled into the restaurant, glancing nervously over his shoulder as he approached the counter wearing an over-sized hooded sweatshirt that looked like it was stolen from his brother's closet (with the words "Minas Tirith University" printed boldly across the front). The hood was pulled up over his head and his hands were stuffed into the front pockets.

"Welcome to Elf-in-the-Box," Haldir droned boredly. "What's with the get-up, Faramir? We don't allow hats in this restaurant."

"It's not a hat," Faramir protested. "It's a hood."

"Well we don't allow any head coverings of any shape or form in this restaurant. It says so right on the door."

Faramir glanced towards the front door of Elf-in-the-Box, which indeed bore a poster with the words _No weapons, no orcs, and no head coverings of any shape or form. We have the right to deny service to anyone who isn't in the norm. _"It rhymes," Faramir remarked, guiltily lowering the hood pulled over his head.

Haldir shrugged. "It's an elf thing. It's why they always hire us to write greeting cards and radio jingles. What brings you here anyway? Isn't your dad having a barbeque today?"

Faramir twitched at the mention of his father and leaned in closer to the counter, so that only Haldir could hear him speak in a whisper. "I've always hated Dad's barbeques, so I snuck off when he was busy grilling the burgers. Or at least I _hope_ those were burgers and not the neighbor's pet warg, who I haven't heard barking in a while. I didn't tell Dad yet but I've decided to become a vegetarian." Watching his father cook various meats on the grill with a sadistic gleam in his eye was enough to put Faramir off on eating mammals forever.

Haldir secretly admired Faramir's courage. The only time he ever stood up to his own father was on the day of his nine hundredth birthday, when he insisted he wanted chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla. He had to settle for chocolate chip because the nearby hobbit neighborhood was having a block party and bought up every chocolate carton in the store.

"Well, what would you like to order?" Haldir droned, quickly changing the subject in case his boss was lurking behind him. Galadriel once made an employee run off in tears when she scolded him for wearing his nametag upside-down.

"What have you got?" asked Faramir.

"Well, we have lembas bread, lembas bread, and lembas bread," Haldir explained. "And diet lembas bread. And the lembas bread combo. And the lembas bread kid's meal. And the buy one get one free lembas bread special. And the bite-size lembas bread appetizer."

"Do you have anything besides lembas bread? I'm on a low-carb diet right now."

Haldir would have gifted any other customer with a Condescending Glare, but he and Faramir were on the same recreational archery team last year and therefore counted as sort-of-friends-but-not-exactly. "You're a vegetarian _and_ you're on a low-carb diet? What exactly do you plan on eating besides carrot sticks?"

"I've got to stay in good shape," Faramir mumbled, looking tempted to pull his hood back on in embarrassment. "Boromir's best friend's sister is coming over for dinner tomorrow and I don't want her to think I'm a wimpy loser. Guess I'll take the diet lembas bread with a side of ketchup."

"That'll be two-fifty."

Faramir handed over the money and shuffled off to an inconspicuous corner, where he hopefully wouldn't be recognized if any of the neighbors wandered in. They were probably all at his father's barbeque but he couldn't afford to take chances, especially when Elf-in-the-Box was famous for its elaborate kid's meal toys that glowed in the dark when danger was near. Their next-door neighbor Beregond could drag his son into the restaurant any minute to buy one of those things, and then Faramir would be caught.

A bell tinkled as the door to Elf-in-the-Box opened, and Faramir held back a groan. He would have preferred to see Beregond dragging Bergil in for a kid's meal, but instead he saw Ioreth, the gossipy old lady who worked as a nurse and lived down the street. Once she finished talking Faramir's ear off about her arthritis pains and her sister's new cat, she would probably stroll back home and spend an hour telling Denethor all about Faramir's truancy from the barbeque party. The last thing he needed was to have his father lecture him for preferring "sissy elf food" over "good old meat and potatoes." Luckily for Faramir, Ioreth spotted someone she knew in one of the booths and settled down for a long chat, which left Faramir free to grab his order and dart outside with it.

While Faramir made his escape from the restaurant Haldir continued to stand boredly behind the cash register and counted how many tiles were in the ceiling above him. He already knew the number since he counted them at least five times a day, but it never hurt to double-check in case he counted wrong. Customers trickled in one by one and Haldir had to endure a half hour of hearing all about Ioreth's cousin's husband, who got drunk and tripped down the stairs last night, and after the old lady left Haldir had to deal with a picky dwarf who wanted specific seasonings on his lembas bread combo.

And it didn't stop there. Legolas came waltzing in five minutes later to announce his arrival to anyone within earshot and persuade Haldir to join his Treehugger's Club, which Haldir promptly rejected ("I may live in a tree, but that doesn't mean I want to save them all, Legolas.") Celeborn, who worked as a humble fry cook while his wife took care of management, crept out of the kitchens and tried to join the club, but Galadriel caught him with her radar-like instincts and punished him with floor scrubbing for a week.

Haldir was starting to get a headache by the time Pippin walked through the door and stood before the short end of the counter. Elf-in-the-Box tried to establish a _No shirt, no shoes, no service_ policy in the past, but it became problematic when hobbits, Gollum, and shameless breeds of elves were turned away from the restaurant. The anti-hat policy still held firm, though Gandalf was always threatening to turn them into something unnatural if they didn't change it.

Pippin's arrival at the restaurant made Haldir feel slightly better, since he knew the hobbit could eat enough for ten people and was therefore good for business, which in turn put Galadriel in a good mood because she loved making money almost as much as she loved bossing Celeborn around.

"Welcome to Elf-in-the-Box," Haldir droned into his little microphone. "How may I help you?"

"I'll just have two orders of bite-sized appetizers," said Pippin.

Haldir was shocked. "Really? That's all you want?"

"I just came from Denethor's barbeque party," Pippin explained. "But the burgers tasted kind of wargish, so after filling up on soda and potato chips I decided to come here."

"What were you doing at Denethor's barbeque?"

"I didn't gatecrash, for your information. The man invited me himself."

Haldir was intrigued, though it could have also been extreme boredom. "Yes, but why?"

"I'm his new employee," Pippin said smugly. "I walked into his car dealership the other day and asked for a job, so now I'm a full-fledged car salesman at Gondorian Motors. Or maybe saleshobbit."

Haldir blinked. The thought of Pippin as a car salesman was a bit laughable, but he supposed it wasn't as strange as Celeborn doing kitchen duty and calling Galadriel "sir" during work hours. "I didn't know you hobbits were the ambitious type. What urged you to get a job?"

"My dad has been putting pressure on me," said Pippin, looking forlornly down at the counter. "Faramir has the same problem. Sometimes we get together over a couple of beers and trade horror stories about our families. Legolas joins in every once in a while."

"You ought to invite me next time," said Haldir. "I've got an eternity's worth of horror stories about my brothers. Didn't know Legolas had a dysfunctional family though. I always thought he was born from the forest or something."

"His dad gets drunk on wine every night and prances around wearing a crown of flowers. Actually his dad is drunk more often than I am, and that's saying something."

Haldir had never felt sorry for Legolas before, since the tree-hugging elf was always trying to post petitions all over the restaurant, but now Legolas' eccentric personality made sense. "Man, if I had a dad like that I would claim the trees as my family too," he muttered. "Of course, I'm stuck with those brothers of mine, so I'm not one to talk."

"Try having three older sisters," Pippin grumbled. "My childhood was a nightmare."

"Here, maybe this will cheer you up." Haldir gave Pippin his order and handed him a cup with the Elf-in-the-Box logo stamped on it. "And here's the cup for your fountain drink. No drinking straight out of the machine like last time or Galadriel will have my ears."

Pippin pouted and accepted his food. "I only did it on a dare. It won't happen again."

"It better not," said a voice from the shadows that sounded suspiciously like Galadriel. Haldir shuddered.

* * *

Faramir was feeling quite pleased with himself. He got to enjoy a nutritious vegetarian meal of lembas bread without getting interrupted, and had received no angry cell phone calls from Denethor demanding to know where he was. It was likely that his father didn't even notice he was missing from the barbeque since all of his attention went towards Boromir anyway, but Faramir wasn't willing to admit that. After throwing out his leftover trash from Elf-in-the-Box, he took a bus to Wal-Mart with plans to buy flowers for tomorrow night's dinner. He didn't know much about Boromir's best friend's sister, aside from the fact that she was female and liked free dinners apparently, but he knew she would appreciate a nice bouquet. All girls liked flowers, right? It was an automatic girl thing.

Faramir knew it was his lucky day because he got a seat on the bus to himself, unlike yesterday when the only available seat was right next to an orc with body odor. He also knew it was his lucky day because he didn't trip on the steps leading out of the bus, unlike last week when he fell flat on his face in front of a group of female elves. He blushed hotter than one of Denethor's barbeques that day.

The Wal-Mart parking lot was crowded and Faramir had to fight his way through families of hobbits, pairs of dwarves (gender unknown), and solitary men like himself in order to find a shopping cart and wrestle it away from other potential shoppers. Once his cart was procured he pushed past an elf woman who looked an awful lot like the one who had giggled loudly at him last week and entered Wal-Mart's garden section.

"Welcome to Wal-Mart, Mr. Customer sir!" said the hobbit greeter who stood by the doors. Sam, the hobbit who had spoken, was one of Pippin's friends and Faramir remembered meeting him at one of their Let's-Complain-About-My-Father sessions. Sam's dad wasn't a bad guy but he was always calling Sam names, usually inspired by whatever object was nearby. Faramir had received his share of name calling from Denethor, but he was glad he had never been called a potato peeler or a garden hose.

"How are you today, Mr. Faramir?" Sam asked. "Might I interest you in some fresh marigolds that arrived this morning? I do wish poor Mr. Frodo would come out and see them, but he's always shut up in that apartment of his. It isn't natural at all."

"Smeagol hates nasty flowers!" a voice interrupted. "Hates them, we does! Curssse them!" Gollum, clad in nothing but a filthy pair of boxer briefs he found in a thrift store, grabbed a fistful of poppies from a display near the doors and trampled them under his feet. "Curse them and the fat hobbit!"

"That Gollum has been trying to ruin business around here for weeks now," Sam muttered. "Thinks he can run me out of a job."

"Why don't you call security on him?" asked Faramir.

"We don't have security no more, Mr. Faramir. Budget cuts and all."

Gollum was now making rude gestures at Sam and baring his teeth, and Faramir quickly shuffled away from the front door. After selecting a bouquet of roses (because all girls liked roses, right?) he stocked up on carrot sticks and apples because there was currently nothing but lunchmeat in the fridge, which Faramir wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

His last thoughts before leaving Wal-Mart were of Boromir's best friend's sister, and he wondered what she would think if he made her a tofu turkey with a side of organic lettuce one night. Surely girls were into that kind of thing, right?


	2. Mistaken Identity

Mistaken Identity

Haldir looked at his watch and sighed with relief. His shift was finally over and he could go home. After taking orders from a hobbit couple with ten kids, an elf with several kinds of food allergies, and a dwarf who tried to pay for his meal with metal bottle caps from old Coke bottles, Haldir was thoroughly exhausted and looked forward to taking a long nap. Of course, that wasn't as simple as it sounded when he lived with two pesky brothers, but Haldir could always threaten to shave their heads in their sleep. That threat always worked with Orophin, who worked as a hairdresser (which was a perfectly manly profession according to Orophin), and Rumil, who played in a garage band and somehow managed to earn some spare change and an abundance of neighborhood elf groupies.

Once his hat and apron were removed, Haldir walked out into Elf-in-the-Box's parking lot and planned to hit the bus stop, but a hand suddenly reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, Haldir turned around and saw Celeborn standing behind him, looking awkward in a stoic kind of way. "What's up, Celeborn? Did I leave my cell phone behind?"

"No." Celeborn's eyes darted from side to side nervously, and he steered Haldir in the direction of a minivan parked near the restaurant. Once the two of them were safely behind the van Celeborn spoke up again. "I think my wife is cheating on me."

Haldir pretended to look surprised. "Oh really? With who?"

"She's been paying a lot of visits to the dwarf who lives down the street. Ever since he came knocking on our door one day and asked for some of Galadriel's hair, he's been a total pest. Look, Haldir, can you do me a favor and spy on them tomorrow night?"

"Well… I…"

"Thanks, pal." Celeborn gave Haldir a friendly clap on the back. "I knew I could count on you."

"But I—"

"I'll call you tomorrow and give you the details, okay? You're the best friend an elf could ask for, buddy."

"Great," Haldir muttered after Celeborn slunk away and snuck back into the restaurant. Suddenly an evening spent with Rumil and Orophin didn't sound so bad, even if he had to listen to Rumil's poor excuse for guitar playing and smell Orophin's cherry scented bubble bath (which was perfectly manly, thank you very much, as Orophin would insist). At least he was getting his paycheck in a couple of days.

* * *

Pippin got up bright and early the next morning, deeply regretting the six-pack of beer he shared with Faramir the night before. He wanted to go halves since friendship was about equality and all that, but somehow he ended up with four beers and Faramir only had two, and now Pippin was paying for it in the morning. Gondorian Motors opened at eight o'clock sharp and if Pippin was late for work by even five seconds, Denethor would surely light him on fire, or at least scowl menacingly at him until his self-esteem completely crumbled. Pippin forced some aspirin down his throat and hopped into the shower at lightning speed to avoid this scenario.

Maybe he should take Merry's advice and quit drinking so much. Either that or learn how to divide, because four and two were certainly not halves. Pippin flunked out of his high school math class for a reason.

He was in such a hurry to get to work on time that he only managed to eat one breakfast instead of two, and he was starving by the time he reached Gondorian Motors and reported to Denethor's office. The office walls were covered in fancy car posters and framed pictures of Denethor's oldest son Boromir, who worked as assistant manager. Pippin once asked why there were no pictures of Faramir on the walls and Denethor refused to speak to him for the rest of the day.

"Get to work, Peregrin Took!" Denethor ordered the moment Pippin entered his office. "I don't pay you to stand around!"

Pippin twitched. He _hated_ getting called by his full name. It always, always, always meant that he was in trouble. It had been Peregrin Took this and Peregrin Took that ever since he came home from college three weeks ago upon getting expelled. He would never hear the end of it. Pippin didn't _mean_ to accidentally set the dorms on fire, but sometimes these things happened, and now he was considered a Disgrace to the Family Name. After yelling at him, threatening to disown him, and taking away second breakfast for a week, his father finally decided that Pippin needed something that would keep him both out of the house and out of trouble: he needed a job.

And thus Pippin was at Gondorian Motors working for the irritable father of one of his friends. Not the greatest job in the world, but it was better than staying at home all day and getting scolded by his parents and his sisters when they dropped by to visit.

"Every male in the Took family has graduated from Tuckborough University, _with_ _honors_," his father had informed him after Pippin got expelled. Sometimes Pippin really hated being a "little rich boy" as Boromir sometimes called him. He had so much to live up to and all he wanted to do was enjoy his youth and have fun, for the love of Eru.

Holding back a sigh, Pippin left Denethor's office and shuffled off to work.

* * *

Haldir was trying to relax on the couch with a good book (_Arachnophobia: a hobbit's tale by Frodo Baggins_) but that was impossible when the giant treehouse he shared with his brothers was invaded by noises of every kind. Rumil was in his bedroom playing Guitar Hero at full volume, Orophin was on the phone attempting (loudly) to give hair advice to their neighbor Elrond, and somebody was outside banging on the door. Thoroughly irritated, Haldir set Frodo's latest novel aside and got up to answer the door.

"Hi there, Haldir. Would you like to join my Treehugger's Club?" asked Legolas, who stood outside the door wearing a shirt that featured a tree with a giant heart around it.

"You already asked me yesterday," said Haldir. "And I said no."

Legolas thrust out his bottom lip and looked at Haldir pleadingly. "Please? I need to gain more members or I'll be the laughingstock of the neighborhood."

"How many members do you have exactly?"

"Sam joined. So did Treebeard and Tom Bombadil. Tom wanted to write a theme song for the club but I told him it isn't necessary."

"Well, I'm not interested." Haldir shut the door and tried to find the page he left off in his novel. "That Frodo Baggins sure knows how to write angst like an expert."

Rumil was still trying to hit a high score on Guitar Hero and Orophin was still on the phone ("I'm telling you, Elrond, braids aren't stylish anymore!") but Haldir did his best to block it out. He was able to read five pages without a break when a sudden knock came at the door.

"Not again," Haldir grumbled. "It better not be one of those door-to-door salesdwarves with lumps of rock for sale." He frowned and opened the door.

"Hi there, Haldir. Would you like to join my Treehugger's Club?" asked Legolas.

Haldir blinked. "You just asked me ten minutes ago."

"I did?" said Legolas, going wide-eyed with surprise.

"Yes, Legolas. You did."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_. Now get off my property." Haldir promptly shut the door and returned to his book again.

Ten minutes later a knock came at the door and Haldir nearly ripped his book apart in his frustration. Putting on his most Condescending Glare, he got up and opened the door again.

"Hi there, Haldir. Would you like—"

"LEGOLAS, WHAT DID I TELL YOU?"

* * *

Pippin considered buying a pair of stilts with his first paycheck. He was tall for a hobbit, but most of the cars were taller than him and it was embarrassing. He had to scramble up onto the hood of one of Gondorian Motors' latest models just so the customers could see him, and trying to sell big wheel pickup trucks was a nightmare. Maybe he should have gotten a job at 7-11 instead.

Pippin soon realized that he couldn't let his height (or lack of height) detain him from being a Successful Car Salesman. After watching Boromir flirt with some lady elves in an attempt to sell them a convertible sports car, he decided that he needed to be charming, and short people were certainly more charming than tall people.

"Why _hello_ there," Pippin drawled enticingly as he sat on the hood of an expensive car. "You look like you could use some new wheels."

"Pippin, what are you doing?" asked Aragorn, who had just arrived at the car lot.

"I work here now," said Pippin, winking at Aragorn. "Care to give this baby a ride?" He stroked the shiny hood of the car. "Come on, you know you want to."

"Actually I need a new jeep for my park ranger personality." Aragorn worked several different jobs under several different names, much to the confusion of everyone who knew him. "Strider crashed the old jeep into a tree the other day. Do you have any cheap ones in stock?"

"Let me go check. You wait here and get acquainted while I'm gone." Pippin tossed another wink at Aragorn and looked suggestively down at the car he was sitting on, then slid off the hood and trotted off to check the jeep records.

Aragorn strolled about the car lot, whistling to himself and wondering what possessed Denethor to hire Pippin of all people. He was in the middle of admiring his reflection in the mirror of a pickup truck when somebody came up behind him and started clearing his throat. Aragorn spun around to face Legolas, who eyed him sternly with his hands on his hips.

"Hey, Lego," said Aragorn. "What's up?"

Legolas' stern expression didn't waver. "You can't win me over with the friendly act, Aragorn. You know what you did."

"No, I don't, actually. What have I done?"

"That poor tree!" Legolas wailed. "The one you hit with the jeep! Luckily he only received minor wounds but he's psychologically traumatized. Took me an hour just to calm him down."

"Legolas, you're talking about a _tree_. And that wasn't me who hit it. It was Strider."

"_You're_ Strider, and you know it!"

"Well it was an accident, okay? It won't happen again."

"You also backed into a tree while getting out of a parking lot last week," Legolas informed him coldly.

"That wasn't me! It was Elessar!"

"_You're_ Elessar!"

Fortunately Pippin trotted up before Legolas could make any more accusations of tree abuse, and Aragorn had never been happier to see the hobbit. "We've got a few jeeps in stock you might be interested in," Pippin said cheerfully. "Oh, hi there, Legolas. Are you coming over to join me and Faramir in our fatherly complaint session? Sam is probably showing up as well. At this rate I could start my very own support group."

"Sure, might as well show up," said Legolas. "Sam and I have important club business to discuss. We'll continue this conversation _later_, Aragorn, or Strider, or whatever you call yourself." And he marched haughtily away.

"What was that all about?" asked Pippin.

"Long story," said Aragorn. "Now let's take a look at those jeeps, shall we?"

* * *

Celeborn called Haldir up in the afternoon and provided the details for his Super Secret Spy Mission. "You're going to sneak over to Gimli's house at seven o'clock sharp," Celeborn explained. "It's the little stone house with garden gnomes in the yard. You can't miss it."

"Right," said Haldir, trying not to sound as unenthusiastic as he felt. "And then what?"

"As soon as my wife enters the house I want you to find a window to spy from and find out what she and that pesky little dwarf get up to. Then report back to me after she leaves."

"Celeborn, don't you think this is all a little extreme? Can't you just confront Galadriel and talk to her about it?"

"You don't know what it's like to live with her, Haldir," Celeborn sobbed into the phone. "I can't talk to her about _anything_. She either contradicts everything that I say or turns blue and scary when she doesn't like the subject. Spying is the only way to deal with this."

"Whatever you say," Haldir muttered. He hung up and picked up another Frodo Baggins novel, _How to Live a Successful Life With Only Nine Fingers: based on a true story._

"Who were you talking to, bro?" Rumil asked, strolling into the living room with his guitar case slung over one shoulder.

"Just a co-worker," said Haldir. "Keep the noise down, will you? I'm trying to read. And tell Orophin not to buy so much shampoo next time he does the shopping. The bathroom is getting cluttered."

"Sure, whatever," said Rumil, nodding his head as he pretended to listen. "I'm gonna go practice with the guys."

"Brothers," Haldir muttered to himself as Rumil walked out the door.


	3. Date With a Dwarf

Date With a Dwarf

"Did I ever tell you fellows about the time my old dad sent me to a summer camp for fat kids?" Sam asked. He drank heavily from his can of beer and grabbed a new one once it was empty. "Now I won't deny that I was a little on the chubby side, but that's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"At least he had your best interests in mind," said Faramir. "My dad sent me to as many camps as possible just to get rid of me, while Boromir got to stay home and watch TV all day."

Pippin patted Faramir on the back and handed him a beer. "Dad thought his kids were too good for any summer camp, but I was stuck playing with girls all the time. My sisters turned me into their personal dress-up doll."

"You all had it so easy," Legolas moaned. "My dad actually _ran _a summer camp when I was younger. He wrote all the campfire songs himself and was always prancing around drunk and he finally scared all the elflings away. It was so embarrassing."

The four of them sat in a circle on the floor of Pippin's bedroom with a substantial amount of alcohol surrounding them, though Legolas had already guzzled down an entire six-pack and wasn't even buzzed yet. "You're lucky this isn't elven brew," he informed the rest of them when he was questioned about it. "This man-made stuff doesn't affect me."

Faramir cracked open the beer Pippin had handed him, gazed into it for a moment, and then gave it back to the hobbit. "You can have it, Pip. I can't drink too much tonight."

"Why not, sir, Mr. Faramir sir?" asked Sam, who was already a bit tipsy.

"My brother and I are hosting a dinner in a couple of hours. Boromir's best friend is coming over and he's bringing his sister."

"So you're desperate, I see," said Pippin.

"No, I just want to make a good impression, that's all. Dad has never believed in my ability to impress women."

"Sometimes my dad dresses up as a woman," Legolas said very quietly. "When he's in a drunken haze, of course. It frightens the neighbors."

"You poor soul," said Sam. He clumsily patted Legolas on the hand and fumbled for another beer can. "You poor, poor soouuul."

"So who's the lucky lady you're meeting tonight?" asked Pippin, nudging Faramir with his elbow.

"Eowyn," Faramir said with a faraway, starry look in his eyes. "Beautiful name, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, Merry knows her and her brother. He works for their uncle Theoden down at the police station."

"Really? Is she nice? Is she pretty? Does she like tofu turkey and organic lettuce?" Faramir demanded.

"I've never met her, but Merry says she's pretty cute," said Pippin, nudging Faramir again. "You should go after her, buddy."

Sam teetered unsteadily for a few moments and then promptly passed out on the floor, interrupting the conversation. "Poor little guy can't hold his liquor, just like Dad," said Legolas, shaking his head sadly.

* * *

Haldir looked at his watch and cursed out loud. It was nearly seven o'clock, which meant he had to head over to Gimli's house and wouldn't get to finish reading the chapter of his novel (_All That is Gold Does Not Glitter_ by the talented Mr. Frodo Baggins of course). He was thinking about joining the Frodo Baggins Fan Club since he had a whole shelf of books written by the literary little hobbit, but that would have to wait until he finished his Super Secret Spy Mission.

He wasn't sure what to wear on a Super Secret Spy Mission, so he tied his hair back with his lucky hair tie and threw on a black jacket raided from Rumil's closet, then set off for Celeborn and Galadriel's neighborhood. It didn't take long to spot a little stone house with garden gnomes in the yard, just several houses away from Celeborn and Galadriel's home, and Haldir hid himself up in a tree across the street.

A glance at his watch told him it was seven o'clock sharp. All he had to do was wait.

Since Haldir was an incredibly lucky elf who always landed in the very best situations, a squirrel decided to scurry across a branch and land right on Haldir's shoulder, which caused him to scream like a girl and fall out of the tree just as Galadriel was walking down the sidewalk across the street.

Haldir's arms and legs were aching and he spat out a mouthful of grass as he slowly raised himself from the ground. Galadriel stopped walking and gazed across the street at him with her best I-Am-Your-Boss-and-You-Will-Worship-the-Ground-I-Walk-On face.

"Haldir, what are you doing?"

* * *

Faramir was nervous. He was also upset because Boromir wouldn't let him make a tofu turkey for dinner and insisted on having pasta, even though he knew about Faramir's low carb diet. It was either pasta or pork ribs (which may or may not have come from one of the neighbor's pets), so Faramir settled for pasta and insisted on making an organic tomato sauce to go with it. "Where's Dad?" he asked Boromir, glancing around anxiously as he set the dining room table.

"He's shut up in his bedroom watching the evening news," Boromir replied. "You know how addicted he is to that stuff."

Faramir forced himself to relax a little and pulled out the roses he bought from Wal-Mart yesterday. He had been watering them every few hours to keep them fresh and felt quite proud of himself for picking them out, though Boromir was staring at them as if they were crawling with maggots.

"What's that?" asked Boromir.

"What's what?" said Faramir.

"You know." Boromir gestured at the flowers clutched in Faramir's hand. "_That._"

"This is a lovely bouquet of roses for the lovely lady who's coming over tonight."

Boromir threw his head back and burst out laughing, as if Faramir had told a hilarious joke. "Dude, you can't give Eowyn flowers. She's going to think you're a weak-minded sissy who sits indoors reading Shakespeare all day and munches on carrot sticks between plays."

"But… but, Boromir…" said Faramir, turning pale. "I _do_ sit indoors reading Shakespeare and munching on carrot sticks between plays. It's both educational and nutritious!"

"Sorry, little brother, but—" Suddenly the doorbell rang, interrupting Boromir's attempt at brotherly advice, and Faramir was left standing awkwardly with the roses in his hand as Boromir rushed off to answer the door. Boromir soon returned to the dining room with Eomer, who had been his best friend ever since they shared a room at Minas Tirith University, and Eomer's sister Eowyn, the most beautiful girl Faramir had ever seen and the first girl he had eaten dinner with since a birthday party he attended when he was twelve.

Faramir was pretty sure the fly of his jeans was down, but now wasn't the time to zip it up.

"Hey, Faramir buddy," said Eomer, slapping Faramir on the back and shaking his hand so hard he nearly tore it off. Eomer had been on nearly every sports team imaginable all through high school and college, and Faramir felt helplessly bookish and nerdy in comparison. "Have you met my sis yet? This is Eowyn."

"Sweets to the sweet," Faramir said as he handed the roses to Eowyn.

Eowyn frowned. "Is that a line from a movie or something?"

"It's from Shakespeare," said Faramir, pouting a little.

"Never seen it."

Faramir wanted to argue that Shakespeare was a gifted playwright, not a movie, but he caught sight of Boromir's amused face and thought better of it. Despite the fact that Eowyn didn't know Shakespeare and looked wholly unimpressed by the roses, Faramir was still determined to woo her and led her to the very best seat at the table, the only one that Denethor hadn't accidentally dropped a burning match on.

"Hope you guys don't mind pasta," said Boromir. "Maybe we can have pork ribs some other night?"

Eomer and Eowyn both looked completely heartbroken at being denied the pork ribs, but they quickly composed themselves for politeness' sake.

"It's got a healthy organic tomato sauce with it," Faramir argued, trying to salvage the reputation of his pasta. "Much less likely to clog up your arteries."

"What's this I hear about tomatoes and arteries?" Denethor strode into the dining room, having finished his quality time with the evening news, and cast a disapproving look upon the table. "No meat, Faramir? What kind of dinner is this?"

Faramir swallowed hard and boldly met the gaze of his father. "Dad, I'm a vegetarian."

Denethor looked ready to have a heart attack. "You're a WHAT?"

* * *

Haldir had no good explanation to give to his boss and gazed across the street at her helplessly. "I was bird watching?"

"Can't you go bird watching in your own neighborhood?" asked Galadriel.

"No, my brother Rumil's guitar playing scares all the animals away. It's a real pity."

"Well I've got important business, so I would appreciate it if you took your bird-watching elsewhere, Haldir." Galadriel gave him a Look that sent shivers running down Haldir's spine. "Remember, I control your salary." And she disappeared into Gimli's stone house.

As soon as Galadriel was gone Haldir hid in some bushes and whipped out his cell phone so he could call Celeborn. "You're done already?" Celeborn asked in disbelief.

"No, your wife caught me before I could get started," said Haldir. "But she's definitely got a date with the dwarf. She was wearing makeup and a nice dress, and even did her hair. She never dresses like that for you."

"I know," Celeborn said forlornly. "I don't get it. What does that dwarf have that I don't?"

"Personality? Facial hair? Maybe you should go down to the docks and ask Cirdan how he grew that beard of his."

"That's not a bad idea. Surely Galadriel won't leave me if I've got a beard, right?"

"It's worth a try, pal."

"I knew I could count on you, Haldir buddy."


	4. Hoist the Anchor

Hoist the Anchor

Pippin was starting to think that letting Legolas and Sam into his home was a bad idea. After Faramir left to go have dinner with his brother's best friend's sister, Pippin was stuck listening to Legolas talk about his Treehugger's Club while Sam lay passed out on the floor. "You really ought to join, Pippin," Legolas was saying after he drank down his second six-pack of the night (and yet he was only slightly buzzed). "Trees deserve equal rights too, you know, like the right to vote and get married to trees of the same gender."

Pippin was a bit intoxicated, but he wasn't nearly drunk enough to buy into this. "Trees don't vote, Legolas. And they don't get married."

"Everyone is always so judgmental!" Legolas sobbed. "If you took the time to look past the leaves and the bark and the roots you would see individuals who just want to be understood and treated equally!"

"Maybe you should go home," said Pippin. "You can drop Sam off at Frodo's place if we can't wake him up." He prodded Sam, who groaned and rolled over. It took several more tries to get the semi-unconscious hobbit to sit up, but once Sam was awake he started babbling apologies.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Pippin, I shouldn't have had all them beers and no mistake. It's just that I never get any ale at home, living with Mr. Frodo and all. The poor thing only drinks tea to calm his nerves as I'm sure you know. I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Pippin, it won't happen again. I swear on my garden rake!"

Pippin suddenly wished that Sam was still passed out. His two friends had certainly overstayed their welcome.

After reassuring Legolas that he would consider the inner feelings of the trees around him, Pippin led Sam and the elf downstairs so he could send them on their way home. This turned out to be a disaster because his oldest sister Pearl had just arrived with her husband and two daughters ("There are too many girls in this family," Pippin always complained) with the intention of having dinner with her parents. The sight of her younger brother coming downstairs rather unsteadily, accompanied by an obviously drunk hobbit and an elf who was ranting about tree rights, had a very bad effect upon Pearl.

"Peregrin Took!" she yelled at Pippin, sounding remarkably like their mother in one of her worst moods. "Are you ever going to learn to behave? I thought getting expelled from college would have taught you something."

"Hi, sis," Pippin said with false cheerfulness. "I'm happy to see you too."

Being charming never worked with Pearl and she scolded him for being a Terrible Uncle and a Disgrace to the Took Family, and how he would be a bad influence on his precious little nieces if he didn't clean up his act. Legolas and Sam stood and listened, somewhat awestruck, while the "precious little nieces" giggled and wondered why Uncle Pip couldn't walk in a straight line.

"You'll never be a respectable member of society," Pearl sighed. "Dad should have disowned you."

Pippin somehow managed to get away after listening to another ten minutes worth of lectures, and Sam was relieved that all his sisters had moved far away while Legolas was glad he didn't have siblings. Pippin was horribly jealous of them both.

* * *

"You're a WHAT?" Denethor cried. He gaped at his youngest son, who had calmly informed him that he was a vegetarian, as if he was merely discussing the weather.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I can't eat meat anymore," said Faramir. He noticed Eowyn looking at him like he was an alien from outer space and felt his heart sink.

"I ought to disown you," Denethor grumbled.

"You say that every night, Dad," said Boromir.

Denethor took a seat at the table and continued muttering darkly to himself as he accepted a helping of the despicable pasta. "Good thing your poor mother didn't live to see you like this. It would break her heart…"

Faramir ignored his father's mutterings and tried to listen to Boromir and Eomer discuss some football game that had been on television last night, but he quickly grew bored with this and turned his attention to Eowyn, who was doing her best to enjoy the organic tomato sauce. It looked like he had failed once more to impress a woman in front of his father, though Faramir wasn't quite ready to give up yet. As soon as the meal was over and their guests were getting ready to leave, Faramir volunteered to "show the lady to the door" and took Eowyn aside.

"You're like a beautiful yellow rose on a cool spring day," he told her passionately. "Your eyes are brightly shining stars that form the constellation of my heart! Your lips are a delicate bud in the garden of loveliness!"

"You say the funniest things," said Eowyn, laughing.

Faramir wasn't trying to be funny, but he didn't bother explaining this. At least he had made her laugh without falling flat on his face at a bus stop.

* * *

Not only was Haldir bored at work, he was also on edge and kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure Galadriel wasn't ready to bash his head in with a spatula. He hadn't spoken a word to his boss all day but he knew she hadn't forgotten about their encounter the night before. It was times like these when Haldir wondered why he hadn't gone to college and considered finding employment at another fast-food restaurant. He had heard rumors that Mushroom King (very popular among the hobbits) was currently hiring.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the tinkling of a bell and braced himself for his next customer. A dwarf walked up to the counter and ordered some lembas bread with honey mustard dipping sauce, then stepped aside to patiently wait for his meal. Celeborn, who was busy with kitchen duty, poked his head out for a moment and caught sight of the dwarf, then immediately grabbed Haldir so he could pull him into the kitchen.

"Celeborn, what are you doing?" Haldir demanded with his Condescending Glare in place.

"You know that dwarf out there? That's Gimli!" Celeborn hissed into his ear.

"The one who's having the affair with your wife?"

"Yes!"

"Well what do you want me to do?"

"Keep him away from Galadriel at all costs. I don't trust that hairy little midget."

Haldir thought about telling Celeborn he was being paranoid, except he had seen Galadriel get dressed up and go to Gimli's house with his own eyes. He returned to the front counter and started to count the ceiling tiles, even though he had just counted them an hour ago, but only got to count nine of them when Gimli stepped up to the counter again.

"Your order isn't ready yet, sir," Haldir droned into his microphone.

"I know," said Gimli. "I just wanted to know if your manager was around. She and I are old friends."

"She's busy right now," Haldir told him as haughtily as he could. "She doesn't have time for the likes of you."

"Oh, come on, can't I see her for just a minute?"

"Look, mister, I know what you're up to," said Haldir. "You're not getting past me."

Gimli gasped, eyes going wide. "You're one of _them,_ aren't you? By Durin's beard, you guys are everywhere, trying to ruin everything!"

Haldir blinked, too startled to be haughty. "One of them? What do you mean?"

"Don't pretend innocence with me, elf boy. I won't have you thwarting my plans. You can keep that lembas bread of yours and shove it." And Gimli stalked out of the restaurant, leaving Haldir completely bewildered.

* * *

Gondorian Motors was quite busy and Pippin had successfully sold more cars than Boromir that day, thanks to his almighty hobbit charm. "Oh please, please buy this car from me, sir," he told a man who entered the lot, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. "If I don't bring home any earnings my family will starve and my father will beat me with a leather strap." He worked up a few tears for good measure.

"You poor little thing," said the customer, ready to start crying himself at the sight of Pippin's pathetic face. "Of course I'll buy this car from you."

_Score_, Pippin thought triumphantly. Perhaps he wasn't meant to finish college, because it sure felt like telling sob stories and selling vehicles to unsuspecting strangers was his true calling. If only his sister Pearl could see him right now. At this rate he would turn into an excellent role model for those nieces of his, because surely this was every little hobbit girl's dream!

"You've done well, Peregrin," Denethor said after observing Pippin's success. "You've already boosted my sales considerably, though we still haven't surpassed our rival dealership, Isengard Imports. I am determined to outsell that old fool Saruman. _Determined!_"

Pippin was rather frightened by the murderous gleam in Denethor's eyes. "I guess I'll go out and sell more cars then."

"Of course you will, Peregrin Took. I don't pay you to watch the clouds go by! But I have an extra job for you." Denethor sidled closer to Pippin and leaned down so he could whisper to him. "I want you to sneak over to Isengard Imports in the middle of the night and take out some of the competition. You know, throw rocks through the windshields, slash the tires, do whatever you have to."

"Can't I just work overtime?" Pippin pleaded, making his eyes bigger as he gazed up at Denethor.

"Of course not," said Denethor. "Now get back to work!"

Pippin was thoroughly miserable by the end of the workday and declined Boromir's offer to buy him an ice cream cone. Instead he went to Wal-Mart, entering through the garden section so he could say hello to Sam, and tried to ignore Gollum hissing and spitting near the front door.

"Welcome to Wal-Mart, Mr. Pippin, sir!" Sam greeted.

"Gollum still trying to run you out of here?" asked Pippin.

"Yep, the old villain is still at it," said Sam, sighing. "I'm starting to think that taking the job he wanted was a bad idea."

Pippin moved on and purchased a black mask, a pair of black gloves, and a flashlight so he could perform his extra job for Denethor, while Sam scooped a clod of dirt from out of a flowerpot and hurled it at Gollum, who was currently trying to eat one of the prized daffodils.

"Smeagol hates the fat hobbit!" Gollum hissed, wiping dirt off his face. "Stoled our job opportunity, he did! He stoled it from us and we wants it back!"

Just then an elf wearing a flashy checkered suit walked through the doors and Sam immediately stood at attention. "Welcome to Wal-Mart, Mr. Customer, sir! We've got all manners of fine growin' things for sale. Only at Wal-Mart, the grandest place in all of Middle-earth!"

The elf in the checkered suit grinned down at Sam and withdrew a business card from his pocket, then handed it to the hobbit greeter. "My name is Glorfindel. Have you ever thought about being in commercials?"

Sam nearly fainted dead away.

* * *

As soon as Celeborn finished his shift at Elf-in-the-Box he told his wife he needed to go shopping, then headed down to the docks where Cirdan, the notorious sailor elf, usually roamed about. Surely Cirdan, the only elf in Middle-earth with facial hair, could help Celeborn grow a beard finer than Gimli's. Cirdan was wandering about the docks with a bottle of rum in his hand, covered in tattoos and piercings with various trinkets braided into his long beard.

"Arr, matey," he said when Celeborn approached. "What brings ye to see ol' Cirdan, eh?"

"My wife seems to have developed a taste for bearded men," said Celeborn. "The only way I can keep her is to grow a beard myself."

"Some bearded scallywag has gone and charmed yer woman, matey?"

"Don't rub it in, man. Can you help me grow a beard like yours?"

Cirdan took a swig of rum and started pacing in circles around Celeborn, studying his face. "I'm just a humble seafarin' elf, not a magician, but I'll do me best. Step onto me ship, laddie, and I'll see what I can do."

An hour later Celeborn came out of Cirdan's ship with a jar full of ointment and a false beard, just in case the ointment didn't work. "Galadriel will love me again for sure," Celeborn said smugly.

"Aye, that she will, matey," Cirdan said in agreement. "Ye'll be puttin' the wind in her sails in no time."

"Do you really think so?"

"Aye, ye'll be swabbin' her deck fer sure."

"So the beard will do the trick then?"

"Arr, lad," said Cirdan. "She'll be hoistin' yer anchor."

"I like the sound of that."

"And ye'll be mannin' her rigging."

"What else?"

"Ye'll be battonin' down her hatches!"

"And?"

"Ye'll be findin' her buried treasure!"

"Go on."

Cirdan shook his head and took another swig of rum. "I've run out of euphemisms, lad. Be on with ye!"

And so Celeborn left the docks in high spirits and headed home. There was no way Gimli or any other dwarf would be able to compete with him once he had his beard.


	5. FBAC vs FBFC

FBAC vs. FBFC

Haldir was ready to fall asleep at the cash register (partially because it was morning and partially because Orophin drank all the SilmarilBucks coffee) when Celeborn entered Elf-in-the-Box wearing a beard. Every elf in the restaurant looked shocked, a couple of men in the corner started snickering, and a hobbit child immediately burst into tears. Celeborn pretended not to notice any of this and headed to the kitchen like he normally did every morning, whistling a song from his favorite musical, _The Barrow-Wight of the Opera_.

"Celeborn, what is that on your face?" Haldir demanded. The crying hobbit child was whimpering by now and the men sitting in the corner had exploded into full-out laughter. It was giving Haldir a headache.

"What do you mean?" Celeborn asked innocently.

"It looks like you are wearing a dead animal on your face."

"Oh, this?" Celeborn reached up and touched the luxuriant golden beard that he had attached to his chin. "This is my new beard, Haldir. All the women are digging beards these days, you know. As soon as the wife sees this she'll forget she ever set eyes on that silly little dwarf."

"She's going to murder you when she sees you. I'd hide all the sharp objects if I were you."

Celeborn just laughed. "She would have murdered the old Celeborn, but I'm a changed elf now." He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Haldir to stand boredly in front of the register and wonder where on earth Celeborn had found such a ridiculous fake beard. Hopefully the beard would catch fire while Celeborn cooked up the lembas bread.

The minutes passed slowly and Haldir expected Galadriel to show up and give Celeborn the scolding of his life, but miraculously his boss was nowhere in sight. Instead he had to deal with Aragorn, who had been banned from the restaurant for his appalling lack of hygiene, and had to personally chase him out into the parking lot. Then Legolas showed up and asked Haldir his opinion on whether or not trees should receive health care (Haldir ended up chasing him into the parking lot as well) and Pippin came wandering in wearing his Gondorian Motors uniform, complete with a nametag that simply said "Pip" in childish handwriting.

"Hey, Haldir buddy," Pippin said in his friendliest car salesman voice. "How would you like to assist me in public vandalism?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Haldir asked haughtily.

"Denethor wants me to wreck some of Saruman's cars to eliminate business competition. Come on, it will be fun!"

Haldir wondered where Pippin had learned such big words like "eliminated" and "competition" from. "I don't have time for fun."

"But don't you want to throw rocks at windshields and risk going to jail?"

"Sorry. You're on your own."

Pippin's eyes started to water and his lower lip trembled. "I can't believe no one wants to help me. I tried to ask Frodo, but he pretended to be sick, and Sam's off meeting with some elf named Glorfindel. So then I asked Merry but he refused because it's illegal and he'll get kicked out of the police force, and when I asked Faramir he refused because he didn't want to help out his dad. Doesn't anybody want to help a hobbit in need?"

"I will help you. For a price, of course," said a voice behind Pippin.

Pippin turned around and found himself faced with the palest man he had ever seen, and to make matters worse the man looked like he had accidentally shaved his eyebrows off while he was drunk one morning. "Grima Wormtongue at your service," he said, giving Pippin a creepy smile that looked like it belonged on a mental hospital inmate.

Pippin suppressed a shudder. "Um, hi. I'm looking for somebody who's skilled at slashing tires in the middle of the night and I don't think you—"

"Oh, believe me, I am an _expert_," said Grima. "Let's talk someplace more private and you can give me all the details."

Pippin wished he had paid more attention when Merry had lectured him on getting involved with strangers. Now this creep named Grima was leading him away by the arm and he completely forgot all the self-defense maneuvers (also taught to him by Merry) that were supposed to save him from these kinds of situations. Oh well. At least it meant that he wouldn't fail in his mission for Denethor, which meant that Denethor wouldn't roast him alive, at least not yet anyway.

Haldir watched Grima lead Pippin off into a dark corner of the restaurant and considered calling the police, when he suddenly caught sight of Galadriel out the window. She was out in the parking lot wearing a nice dress and makeup instead of her manager uniform, and soon Gimli appeared in the parking lot as well.

Haldir abandoned his post at the cash register and snuck outside.

* * *

Sam knocked carefully upon Frodo's door, taking care not to make too much noise in case Frodo was either a.) resting, b.) working on a brilliant new novel, or c.) writing in the stress journal his therapist had told him to keep. Poor Frodo suffered from all sorts of nervous disorders and he rarely left the apartment, so Sam happily did all of his grocery shopping and dry cleaning when he wasn't busy greeting customers at Wal-Mart.

Frodo's door opened a moment later and Frodo himself appeared, looking pale and tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and he coughed weakly. "What is it, Sam?"

"Mr. Frodo, you wouldn't believe what's happened!" Sam whisper-shouted so he wouldn't distress Frodo. "An elf named Mr. Glorfindel wants me to be on one of them fancy commercial-whatsits for Wal-Mart. Can you believe it, Mr. Frodo? Me go on TV with elves and all! Wait till my old Gaffer hears about this!"

"That's wonderful, Sam." Frodo's eyes darted around nervously and he shuffled towards Sam so he could whisper in his ear. "Have you heard anything from my… editor?"

"No, Mr. Frodo. Not lately. Has that villain been pestering you at all?"

"I told him that I'm deathly ill so he'll leave me alone. Hopefully he'll believe that I'm wasting away in the hospital and won't hassle me about deadlines."

Personally Sam felt that Frodo's little deception wasn't too far from the truth, since his health was already poor most of the time. "My old Gaffer always told me that lyin' is a terrible crime, Mr. Frodo, but I'll do it for your sake. I swear on my prized cabbages!"

Suddenly Frodo's cell phone vibrated (ring tones always distressed his poor nerves) and after giving the phone a terrified look, Frodo tossed it to Sam.

"Hello, Mr. Caller sir!" Sam greeted like a proper little Wal-Mart greeter.

"Frodo had better have his manuscript ready or he'll be sorry," said Frodo's editor. "It was due last week."

"Um, well…. I… I…" said Sam, stammering helplessly.

"Tell him I'm in a coma!" Frodo hissed.

"Uh, Mr. Frodo is in a coma, sir! Goodbye!" Sam quickly hung up and handed the phone back to Frodo, who was coughing weakly into his handkerchief. "Well, Mr. Frodo, we're in a fine mess and no mistake."

* * *

"Have you recruited any members yet?" Gimli whispered to Galadriel.

"I'm trying to get my son-in-law to join," Galadriel whispered back. "But he's so old-fashioned. He still thinks that robes and braids on an elf are stylish!"

"What about that granddaughter of yours? Is she interested?"

"Arwen? That silly little wench seems to find unwashed mortals attractive. I doubt she even knows how to read, let alone join a club for a brilliant author."

Haldir, who was crouching behind a van and eavesdropping on the conversation, grew more confused by the second. It sure didn't sound like Gimli and Galadriel were engaging in a passionate affair behind Celeborn's back, but perhaps they were speaking in code. However, that didn't explain the mentions of Elrond and Arwen, unless the two of them were somehow involved in the affair as well…

Haldir shuddered.

"I sense an intruder," said Galadriel, using the same Almighty Manager voice she used when she suspected Celeborn of stealing ketchup packets from the kitchen. She strode behind the van and yanked Haldir by the arm. "Fool of a Haldir, have you been eavesdropping?"

"Relax, lady," said Haldir, pulling himself out of Galadriel's iron grip. "I'm just doing it for the good of this restaurant. What are you guys up to?"

"That is top secret business, elf boy," said Gimli. "Go back to your cash register!"

Galadriel sighed. "We're the founders of the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club. So far Gimli and I are the only members."

Haldir blinked. "Wait, isn't there already a Frodo Baggins Fan Club?"

"That's not a proper club," Gimli scoffed. "The _Admirers_ Club is much better."

"We feel that the Fan Club has become much too commercialized," Galadriel explained. "They're obsessed with merchandise and throwing parties at Barnes & Noble. Gimli and I want to belong to a club that respects and admires the talents of a great author."

Haldir felt like this was his lucky day, a rare feeling that he only experienced about once or twice a year. "Mr. Baggins happens to be my favorite author," he remarked coolly. "I have a shelf full of his novels at home."

"Have you read _Don't Follow the Lights: a tale of suspense by Frodo Baggins_?" Gimli demanded excitedly. "It's my favorite!"

"I've read it three times, my good dwarf."

"The imagery is incredible! I was on the edge of my seat when it got towards the end!"

"Personally my favorite is _The Bite of Sting_," said Galadriel. "I do love a good epic filled with bravery and bloodshed. Though I've always thought that its sequel, _The Sting of Victory_, doesn't measure up to the original."

"_The Sting of Victory _is too depressing," said Haldir. "I dearly hope he doesn't make that series a trilogy, because I can't imagine a happy ending for the hero."

"Let's all meet at my house at seven o'clock tonight," said Gimli. "I'll provide dwarf cakes and we can discuss ways of recruiting members!"

And just like that, Haldir was a member of the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club. It was certainly better than being just a cashier at a fast-food restaurant.

* * *

Faramir walked into the kitchen so he could grab some carrot sticks to go with the book of poetry he was planning to read, but as soon as he entered the room he turned pale and tried not to gag. "D-dad?" he stammered. "Is that a deer carcass lying on the kitchen counter?"

Indeed there was the dead body of a deer stretched out on the counter and Denethor was busy carving it up with a strange gleam in his eyes. "We are meat eaters in this household, Faramir. We are having deer for dinner tonight and you are going to like it."

"No, I think I'll just have a salad."

"Then I will disown you!"

"You say that every single day, dad," said Boromir, who had just walked in with a piece of half-eaten beef jerky in his hand. He went over to the fruit bowl, which had been filled with jerky instead of fruit, and grabbed another piece. "Is it okay if Eomer comes over again? We're gonna shoot some hoops in front of the garage."

"Of course, my favorite son," said Denethor. "I know your friends appreciate my cooking, unlike _somebody _around here."

Faramir perked up as soon as Boromir mentioned Eomer. "Is his sister coming?"

"Might as well invite her," said Boromir. "Eomer said she's good at basketball."

Faramir disliked sports of all kinds and in high school he always got picked last when they divided up into teams for P.E. class, but he was still convinced that he and Eowyn were Soul Mates and was more determined than ever to woo her. Eager to get away from Denethor and his horrifying attempts at "dinner," Faramir quickly snagged some carrot sticks from the fridge and darted off to his bedroom, where he sat around and read Elvish for about an hour. Maybe if he wrote Eowyn a poem in Elvish, he could finally impress her.

By the time Eomer and Eowyn arrived at the house, Denethor had five heaping plates of deer meat on the table and Faramir had composed several lines of Elvish poetry. "Dad, I'm not eating this," he said, eyeing his plate with horror. "I'll just make myself a sandwich or something."

"You will not leave this table until you eat at least one bite," said Denethor, glowering at his youngest son.

"But dad, I'm a vegetarian."

"Faramir, you're embarrassing me in front of our guests. Be quiet and eat."

Faramir sighed and sat down at the table beside Eowyn, who was chatting with Boromir and Eomer about some basketball game the three of them had all watched. "Good evening, fair lady," said Faramir. "You are more beautiful than the sun and the moon."

"Dude, your brother is such a nerd," Eomer whispered to Boromir.

"I took a Shakespeare personality quiz on the internet today," Faramir told Eowyn as she munched on her deer. "It told me that I'm Benvolio from _Romeo and Juliet_. And then I took the quiz for you and it said that you're Viola from _Twelfth Night_."

"Who's Viola?" said Eowyn. "Want to play basketball with us after dinner?"

"Um… want to hear a poem I wrote for you first? It's in Elvish."

"I don't know Elvish," said Eowyn, laughing. "You're hilarious."

"Dude," Eomer whispered to Boromir again. "Make the nerd stop flirting with my sister."

"Dude, stop him yourself," Boromir whispered back.

Faramir soon became aware that Eomer was glaring at him, and to make matters worse Denethor was also glaring at him. "Um… I'll be in the bathroom," he said nervously. He slipped away from the table to hide in his room yet again. "I am so uncool," he said forlornly, throwing himself onto his bed and grabbing his Elvish dictionary for comfort. "If I want Eowyn to like me I have to become cool, which means I need to seek coolness advice." After thinking hard for a minute, he grabbed his phone and dialed a number.

* * *

**Author's Note:** For those of you who are not Shakespeare nerds like myself and Faramir, Benvolio (_Romeo and Juliet_) is a gentle, reasonable, pacifist kind of guy, and Viola (_Twelfth Night_) dresses up in male clothing and pretends to be a man. Quite fitting for Faramir and Eowyn.


	6. In the Middle of the Night

In the Middle of the Night

Pippin didn't look forward to sneaking over to Isengard Imports in the middle of the night to do Denethor's dirty work for him, but he figured one more misdeed couldn't hurt. He was already a disgrace to the family name, after all, so he might as well keep up his reputation for causing trouble. After drinking about three cans of Red Bull to keep himself awake, he snuck out of the house with his black ski mask, black gloves, and flashlight and caught a late bus to Isengard Imports. Pippin wasn't allowed to drive, for very good reasons.

There were all sorts of creepy passengers on the bus so late at night and he was stuck sitting near a group of orcs who looked like they dearly wanted to eat him. "Um, I have high cholesterol," Pippin told them nervously. "I'm also an alcoholic."

The orcs still looked hungry, and Pippin hoped his family would sue Denethor if he didn't make it through this mission alive.

Isengard Imports, as the name suggested, was a dealership that specialized in imported cars, and Pippin practically ran off the bus when it got to his stop. "Hey, you," a voice said in his ear, making Pippin jump with terror. "What would you do… for a Klondike Bar?"

Once Pippin's eyes adjusted to the dark street he realized that Grima had sidled up to him, looking as creepy as ever. "Can we just get this over with please? My dad's gonna deprive me of second breakfast for the rest of my life if he catches me out here."

Grima licked his lips and sidled off amongst the shadows. "This way, my hobbity little friend. I know where old Saruman keeps all the best cars."

Pippin sighed and scooped up some rocks to stuff into his pockets, then followed Grima to a far corner of the car lot where rows of cars waited for him. Grima whipped out a pocketknife and started slashing tires, and Pippin hurled rocks through the windows with perfect accuracy. He used to play baseball for college before he accidentally set the dorms on fire and got expelled, though they always had to put a chair on top of the pitcher's mound so he could be tall enough. It was pretty embarrassing.

Suddenly Grima pulled out a cell phone and said, "Hey cops? There's a case of vandalism over at Isengard Imports. You oughtta check it out."

"What are you doing?" cried Pippin.

"Getting you arrested, of course. Saruman happens to be my boss, genius."

Soon there were police sirens wailing through the air and Pippin tried to hide inside one of the cars, but the door was locked and Grima grabbed him by the wrist so he couldn't run off.

"Great," said Pippin. "I should have listened to my parents when they told me not to talk to strangers."

* * *

Celeborn shivered and tried to warm his hands inside his luxurious beard. He was currently sitting under a tree in the middle of the night, gazing forlornly at the nice warm house that he should have been sleeping in. Galadriel was so furious over his beard that she forced him to sleep out in the backyard. Perhaps they needed marriage counseling. He heard that Gandalf had worked wonders between Elrond and his wife by sending Celebrian off to Las Vegas or something.

Celeborn shivered again. All this night air was bad for his pores. "Hey Galadriel?" he called out pitifully.

"What?" Galadriel growled from inside.

"Can I please come inside now? I'm going to get split ends if I stay out here."

"Well you should have thought of that before you put on that horrible beard."

Celeborn sighed and crawled across both the backyard and the front yard until he was in the street, then started walking in search of a neighbor he could stay with. Elrond lived a couple of streets away and Celeborn would surely freeze to death before he reached him, Haldir's tree house was nearby but Haldir was awfully grumpy most of the time, so that left him with one option.

Shivering harder than ever, Celeborn knocked on his near neighbor's door and waited for an answer. Soon the door opened and an elf around his own age appeared, holding a half-empty bottle of elven wine in one hand and a CD in the other. He was wearing a green bathrobe and had some sort of crown made out of berries and flowers on his head. "Celeborn, my man. How's it hanging? I was just about to put in some nature music and let myself go, bro."

"Um, hi Thranduil," Celeborn said nervously. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight?"

Thranduil laughed and took a swig from his bottle. "Of course. Tonight we are going to par-tay like it's the First Age. Love the beard, by the way. It's very edgy and hip, my man."

"Uh, thanks."

Thranduil pranced—there was no better word for it—over to the stereo and popped in his nature CD, then grabbed some bottles from the kitchen and passed one to Celeborn. "I hope you're ready to get your groove on, my elvish buddy. Time to part-aaay." He began thrusting his hips to the sound of wind rustling through the leaves of a forest that came from the stereo.

Suddenly Legolas came down the stairs, wide-eyed with fear, and gazed at Thranduil "getting his groove on" to nature. "Dad, what are you doing?"

"Just having some fun with my bro," said Thranduil. "Come on, Legoboy, get over here and work what me and your mama gave you."

Legolas _hated_ it when his dad called him Legoboy. "I'm gonna go stay at a friend's house. The neighbors better not call the cops on you again."

Thranduil wasn't listening, as he was too busy shaking it to the sound of a roaring waterfall, while Celeborn stood around awkwardly and tried to drink himself into passing out. Legolas got out of there as fast as possible.

* * *

Pippin always assumed that if he were to ever get arrested, it would be for getting drunk in public or stealing from the neighbor's mushroom garden or selling pipe-weed to underage hobbit children. Getting arrested for vandalizing cars and getting blamed by a creep with no eyebrows was definitely not in his plans, but that was exactly what had happened and now he was being held in a jail cell while the police decided what to do with him.

"You get one phone call," snarled the orc guard who was watching Pippin.

Pippin tried not to cry like a scared little hobbit lass and accepted the phone that the guard thrust at him. He definitely couldn't call home or else his father would disown him for sure, and Pippin was going to need that inheritance because he kept drinking away all his wages from Denethor. Frodo was also out of the question, since his oldest cousin would claim that he was too ill to go outside, and he couldn't call Faramir because Denethor might find out about his arrest and fire him.

"Hey Merry?" Pippin said into the phone. "Can you come get me out of jail please?"

* * *

"Legolas, it's one o'clock in the morning," Haldir stated, sounding both tired and annoyed. "If you came knocking on my door to lecture me about tree discrimination, I will have to hurt you."

Legolas stood at his front door holding a pillow tucked under one arm. "No, it's nothing like that. Celeborn came over to our house and now my dad is being super weird and I can't sleep. Can I please please please spend the night here?"

"Legodude!" Rumil appeared out of nowhere and slapped Legolas a high-five. "Sweet, man, you wanna play Guitar Hero? I hit a new high score last night."

"No," Haldir said firmly. "Get back to bed, Rumil."

"Oh, hi there Legolas," said Orophin, also coming out of nowhere. "I tried that conditioner you recommended and it is just magical. Everyone down at the salon just loves it."

"_You_ get to bed as well," Haldir snapped. "I will handle this."

"Um, I really just want to get some sleep," said Legolas. "It's really hard when my dad insists on getting drunk and partying in the middle of the night. I'll just… lie down on the floor and I won't bother anyone, I swear."

"You can take the living room couch," said Haldir. "Consider yourself lucky."

After chasing Rumil and Orophin back to their rooms, Haldir got Legolas situated on the couch. "Hey, is that a Frodo Baggins novel?" said Legolas, his eyes lighting up. He grabbed _Secret and Safe: a mystery tale by Frodo Baggins_ from off the coffee table and flipped through it eagerly. "Oh my Valar, I love his books! He's so sensitive towards nature."

Haldir wondered if there was anyone in the city who _didn't_ read Frodo's novels. "So you're a fan as well? I've been reading him since his first book came out."

"I just started reading him two months ago, but I'm hooked. Man, he is _so_ deep about the human emotional state."

"You know, you should join the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club," said Haldir. "It's a million times better than the Fan Club because we choose to respect Mr. Baggins instead of shamelessly fanboy and fangirl him. Are you in?"

"Sure!" said Legolas. "As long as it doesn't get in the way of my Treehugger's Club duties, because trees come first of course."

"Fantastic," said Haldir. "Now get to bed, treehugger."

* * *

When Merry received a phone call from Pippin at one-thirty in the morning, begging him to get him out of jail, he was tempted to ignore him and go back to sleep, but then he realized that this was his chance to go on a _real_ police mission. All he ever did was give out speeding tickets all day long and whenever he asked Theoden, the chief of police, if he could do something a little more exciting, Theoden would spend about an hour lecturing him about how dangerous that was.

Theoden was a nice guy and everything, but sometimes he was a little too protective over Merry. And sometimes he would get all senile and accidentally call him Theodred, which was kind of creepy.

After promising Pippin that he would come get him as soon as possible, Merry went through his drawers and grabbed all the police officer accessories that he never ever got a chance to use, like handcuffs and taser guns and a bullet proof vest. He then got into his special police car that was modified for hobbit drivers and headed off for the jail, blasting his siren at full volume simply because he could.

Pippin ought to get arrested more often.

* * *

Celeborn had never been so drunk in his life.

Sometime in the last thirty minutes he managed to lose his pants, somehow tripped over a wine bottle and crashed into Thranduil's television, and almost set his (false) beard on fire. Thranduil didn't seem alarmed by any of these incidents and insisted that they keep on "rolling with the groove," whatever that meant.

"Hey C-Man," said Thranduil, throwing a drunken arm across Celeborn's shoulders. "You should like, call up your wife. Man, it'll be funny."

"Ha," Celeborn laughed stupidly. "I should. Where's the phone, bro?"

"I don't know, buddy."

They spent ten minutes hunting for the phone and finally found it inside the microwave in the kitchen. Celeborn dialed up his home number and waited, giggling all the while.

"Hello?" said Galadriel, sounding groggy.

"Heyyy baby," Celeborn slurred. "I'm too sexy for my beard, too sexy for my beard, it's so totally weeeiiird."

"Celeborn, is that you?"

"And I'm too sexy for my wife, too sexy for my wife, who wants to rule my life. And I'm an elf lord, you know what I mean, and I do my little dance in the foreeest!"

"Celeborn, you are in _so_ much trouble," Galadriel snarled. "I am locking you out of the house until you remove your beard _and_ formally apologize for this."

"Ohoho, I love you too, babe," said Celeborn. "Now get some beauty sleep, 'cause you need it, lady." He hung up the phone, and he and Thranduil both collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"You are the most bro-tastic bro-man in the history of bros, bro," said Thranduil. "This is gonna, like, go down in the history of bro-ship for sure. Man, this reminds me of the time I told my wife that her dresses look better on me. She took off after that, and me and the Legoboy never saw her again."

"Ha, I'm gonna be in soooo much trouble," said Celeborn, grinning like an idiot. He then passed out in a heap on the floor, and Thranduil followed suit a few minutes later.

At least the neighbors didn't call the cops that night.

* * *

Pippin went from sitting in a dark cold jail cell to sitting in the passenger seat of a police car with the siren blaring for no reason, and he couldn't decide if this was an improvement or not. "Merry, couldn't you have talked to the other cops and asked them to let me go?"

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning by now, and Merry refused to turn off his siren even though it was most likely disturbing citizens of all races. "That would have been too easy," he said.

"Did you really have to taser the guards, blow up my jail cell, and put me in handcuffs?" said Pippin, gazing forlornly down at his handcuffed wrists.

"You have no idea how necessary that was, Pip."

Pippin privately wondered if his favorite cousin was going a bit crazy, but he was too tired and traumatized to say so. As the car approached the fancy hobbit neighborhood that the Tooks' house was located in, his eyes went wide with panic and he tried to swat at the steering wheel with his bound hands. "Wait, wait! Don't take me home! Mom and Dad are going to kill me and starve me and ban me from both second breakfast _and_ elevenses if they find out what happened!"

"What do you want me to do?" asked Merry. "Leave you out on the street?"

"Can I stay at your place? Please? I'll tell my parents I spent the night there." Pippin looked at Merry with the same pitiful, heartbreaking expression he used on customers at Gondorian Motors, and it must have worked because Merry sighed and started driving in the opposite direction.

"Just for one night, okay?"

"Actually, I was thinking a week or two. It will be fun!"

Merry resisted the urge to shoot Pippin with his taser gun and kept on driving, wishing he had never answered that phone call after all.


	7. Concerning Coolness

Concerning Coolness

When Haldir woke up in the morning he thought that having Legolas spend the night was the end of his problems (aside from Legolas eating all the Lembas Puffs and using his favorite shampoo), but he was apparently mistaken. After waking up with a headache, drinking down three cups of coffee, and yelling at Rumil for playing his guitar too loudly, he was interrupted from his morning stress exercises by a knock on the door. "Legolas, you better not have invited one of your tree-hugging freaks over," he said loudly, since Haldir was too cool and sophisticated to yell.

Legolas was deep in discussion with Orophin about the best brands of hair dye and therefore didn't hear him.

Haldir rubbed his aching head and yanked open the door. "No thank you," he stated coldly. "We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations."

"What about under-appreciated second sons?" said Faramir. He was dressed in one of his brother's oversized college sweaters with the hood pulled over his head, which was a sure sign that he wanted to avoid his father's notice. "Can I come in please?"

Haldir looked at Faramir's pitiful face and sighed. "Please don't tell me you want to sleep over. I've already got Legolas invading my living room."

"Actually, uh… I'm here to see your brothers."

Rumil and Orophin immediately showed up with their uncanny habit of popping out of nowhere. Rumil was wearing an obscene amount of eyeliner and had on a ripped pair of jeans that made Haldir shudder, while Orophin had used way too much floral scented bubble bath (which was perfectly manly, of course) and had plucked his eyebrows to perfection. "Dude, Fara-buddy!" said Rumil, giving Faramir an eager clap on the shoulder. "Thanks for calling us up about the coolness advice, man. Me and Orophin are totally the coolest elves around."

"Hmph. I see how it is," muttered Haldir, feeling left out.

"Oh my Valar! You're here, Faramir!" Legolas came bursting into the room and threw his arms around Faramir, sobbing into his shoulder. "You won't believe what my dad has done lately. We need to call Pippin and schedule a Daddy Issues Meeting as soon as possible! After I hand out my pamphlets about unfair park conditions, of course. Can you believe that those poor trees down at the park are constantly getting hit with Frisbees, and getting initials carved into their sensitive bark, and getting inadequate nutrition?"

"Um, no. I didn't know that," said Faramir. "How fascinating."

"It's downright ridiculous!" Legolas cried. "You really should join the Treehugger's Club and make a difference, Faramir. Maybe it will make your dad love you."

Faramir shook his head sadly. "No, nothing can possibly work such a miracle."

"Well, since I'm apparently the only one in this room who doesn't have a social life, I will be off to work now," said Haldir, giving everyone a Condescending Glare. "Good day to you all."

Nobody said goodbye to him as he strode haughtily out the door.

* * *

"Mr. Frodo, you're not lookin' too good, if you don't mind me saying so," said Sam. He was getting ready to go to Wal-Mart, but he was distracted by the sight of Frodo sitting at the kitchen table, looking pale and tired. "That book of yours is sucking the life out of you. You barely slept last night and you've hardly touched your breakfast!"

"It's such a great weight, Sam," said Frodo, looking at him with haunted eyes. "Such a heavy burden. I'm afraid the task of finishing this novel is too big for me."

"I could help, Mr. Frodo. I don't know nothing about book writing or telling great tales, but I could try."

"No, Sam!" Frodo snapped. Suddenly his face changed and he looked rather demented instead of pitiful. "It's _my_ book. Mine alone! You can't touch it!" He then put his face in his hands and began to sob over his uneaten breakfast. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I wish this plot had never come to me."

"I don't like what it's doin' to you, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I oughtta stay home from work to make sure you eat and sleep proper. I'll make you some tea and cook up some fresh taters!"

"My pen is getting heavier and heavier," Frodo moaned. "Such a great weight, Sam. I'll never be able to make it."

"There, there, Mr. Frodo. You just rest a bit. I can't write your book for you, but I can… well, I'll do something or other."

Sam bustled about and made some tea, while Frodo continued to wallow in angsty self-pity. Suddenly his cell phone vibrated and the poor hobbit nearly had a heart attack. "Oh no, it's _him_. Why does he have to bother me when I'm ill?"

"I oughtta break that mean ol' editor's neck," said Sam. "I swear by my old Gaffer's radishes, it ain't right for him to pester you like that." He took Frodo's phone and promptly tossed it into the garbage, where it wouldn't bother either of them anymore.

* * *

When Haldir arrived at work he found that Elf-in-the-Box was even more dysfunctional than usual. It was even worse than the time the soda machine broke down and a horde of angry dwarves hurled rocks at the building because they couldn't have their Diet Coke. Celeborn staggered into the restaurant looking exhausted, though his beard was still stubbornly attached to his face, and he failed to notice that his uniform was put on backwards. "My aching head…" he moaned. "Why are the lights in here so bright?"

"Are you all right, Celeborn?" asked Haldir, raising an eyebrow at him.

"It feels like there's an oliphaunt sitting on my head." There were dark circles under Celeborn's eyes and as soon as he dragged himself to the kitchen, he collapsed on top of a counter and remained there in a heap of elvish patheticness. Haldir shrugged and began counting the money in the cash register. Perhaps he should finally tell Celeborn that Galadriel wasn't cheating on him with Gimli after all, but it was far too amusing to see him fall into decline.

Haldir supposed he had been voted Most Insensitive in high school for a reason.

Five minutes later Galadriel swept coldly into the restaurant and spoke in her deepest, loudest, most frightening Manager Voice. "Haldir, I want you to take over the fry cook duties for today. Celeborn has been temporarily fired because he refuses to show respect to his superior. That is all."

Haldir blinked at her in disbelief, while Celeborn slid off the counter and landed on the floor unconscious. "Now get to work," Galadriel ordered, and then she marched away with her head held high.

"I need a new job," Haldir muttered. Mushroom King wasn't hiring anymore, but maybe he could find a job at McDeagol's.

* * *

"Now if you want to be cool, you've got to stop going on about poetry or whatever," Rumil instructed, looking sternly at Faramir. "That's just lame, man. Try watching cool movies and playing cool video games and stuff."

"But I do watch movies," Faramir protested. "I watched a three-hour documentary on classical Greece the other day. And Dad never lets me touch Boromir's video game playing thing and I wouldn't want to play it anyway, since it's just a violent waste of time."

Rumil gazed at Faramir in disbelief. "Dude, you are hopeless. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

"Don't be so harsh, Rumil," said Orophin. "You're starting all wrong, anyway. Faramir can't become cool until he changes that outdated hairstyle and puts on some more stylish clothes. I think I've got some outfits in my closet that will fit you, Faramir."

Faramir looked at the two brothers helplessly. All he wanted to do was improve himself so he could successfully woo Eowyn and get her to stop laughing at him, but taking coolness advice from Rumil and Orophin was almost as bad as spending "quality time" with his father (which usually consisted of sitting awkwardly on the living room couch while Denethor gazed at Palantir News Network on television). He suffered in horrified silence as Orophin shampooed his hair with some sort of flowery scented shampoo that nearly gagged him, and he was too weary to argue when Rumil picked out a pair of black skinny jeans and matching black sneakers for him to wear.

"Much better," said Orophin. "Now that you look cooler, you'll be ready to act cooler."

"All right," said Faramir.

"_Bro_," Rumil corrected. "You should say 'All right, bro' instead. It sounds a lot cooler."

"No, that just makes you sound like an idiot," said Orophin. "Don't listen to him, Faramir."

"Dude, Orophin, you wouldn't be cool at all if it wasn't for me," said Rumil.

"Excuse me? I am _older_ than you."

"Yeah, by only fifty years, man. That's nothing."

Faramir realized that seeking advice from elves, no matter how cool they were, probably wasn't the best idea. "Um, I'm going to go now… bros. Legolas wants me to meet with him and Pippin in a little while."

"See ya, man," said Rumil. "Good luck on scorin' with the ladies!"

Faramir couldn't get out of there fast enough.

* * *

Frodo coughed weakly into his handkerchief and tried to lift his pen so he could finish the paragraph he was working on. "Oh, it's such a burden," he muttered to himself as he struggled to wield his pen. "Such a heavy, heavy burden. And yet I chose this task, so I must see it through to the end." He wrote feverishly for a few minutes, then set down his pen in exhaustion and finished off the fresh cup of tea Sam had brought him before leaving for his meeting with Pippin and Legolas. Perhaps he should check his e-mail, though the thought of doing so made one of his eyes twitch with anxiety.

He had a feeling he was going to spend the rest of his life in therapy.

Frodo's e-mail inbox consisted of the usual fan letters and reviews and spam telling him about naked dwarf websites, all of which he skipped over. However, he was unable to ignore the message bearing the subject line _CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE WON A FREE BASKET OF MUSHROOMS._ Frodo's eyes lit up at the word "mushrooms" and he eagerly clicked on the e-mail.

_Dear Mr. Baggins,_

_How many times must I threaten you? Give me that manuscript or I will be forced to take drastic action. This is your last warning._

—_Your editor._

_P.S. I fooled you good with that subject line, didn't I?_

Poor Frodo's nerves were quite shaken up, but fortunately his mind was still in working order. He immediately hit the "reply" button and began typing out a response in imitation of Sam, complete with childish spelling and grammar since dear Sam never made it through high school.

_dear mr editer sir,_

_pore mr frodo has gone on a trip, sir, cuz of his bad helth and all. he dont mean to keep you waitin and all but the pore feller is such a sick hobit, you know. i hope you dont mind me writin this letterr to such a smart ol editer man like yerself, sir. lets both hope our pore mr frodo gets beter so he can finish them fancie books of his._

—_samwise gamgee _

"That ought to show him," Frodo said as he clicked the "send" button.

* * *

"You know why my dad named me Legolas?" Legolas asked as he opened up a can of beer. "He really liked playing with Legos. Can you believe it? He named me after a bunch of plastic toy blocks!"

"My old dad's always callin' me names," said Sam. "Like ninnyhammer. I don't even know what a ninnyhammer is!"

"I always have trouble spelling Peregrin," said Pippin, opening his second beer. "I think my dad named me that on purpose just to frustrate me when I did my school assignments. No wonder I had to repeat the second grade."

The three of them were gathered in the living room of Merry's apartment, since Pippin refused to go home and decided that sleeping on his cousin's couch was a million times better than being under the roof of his overbearing parents. True, he probably should have _asked_ Merry if it was okay to invite some friends over and drink up all his beer, but Pippin's philosophy in life was to have fun now and deal with consequences later.

They were in the middle of a deep discussion on what a ninnyhammer could possibly be when Faramir arrived, feeling awkward in his black skinny jeans and sneakers. "Um, hi… _dudes_," he said as he entered the living room. "Wh-what's up?"

"What happened to you?" said Legolas, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"Heh. I'm uh, cool now," Faramir replied, forcing out a laugh. "I— I mean, bro. Man. Homie."

"I must be drunker than I thought," said Pippin. He shrugged and tossed Faramir a beer. "Sit down, my brother from another mother. And another race. And another height. And another… yeah." He started on his third beer as Faramir seated himself on the living room floor, since Pippin and Sam were both on the couch.

Sam had been quiet for several minutes, but now he broke his bout of silence. "This is it."

"This is what?" asked Legolas.

"If I take one more step… I'll be a little closer to the TV. They're playin' my commercial-whatsit for Wal-Mart tonight and I do hope it will cheer up poor Mr. Frodo.. He gets weaker by the day and it just ain't right. It ain't right, I tell you."

"S-s-sucks to be him, man," Faramir stammered awkwardly.

"I think I liked you better when you were always going on about Kleats or whatever," Legolas muttered.

"It's _Keats_," Faramir corrected. "John Keats was a great but rather tragic poet and—I… I mean, uh… _dude_. He is, uh, so lame, man. And I… I can't do this!" He finally broke down and pulled off the sneakers and jeans, so that he was left in just his socks, boxer shorts, and stylish shirt that Orophin lent him. "If I want to successfully woo my fair lady, I will have to be myself."

Legolas blinked. "While we're on the subject of self-improvement, can I get you all to sign my petition concerning park conditions? You'll become better people if you do!"

"Begging your pardon, but you already made me sign," said Sam, blushing uncomfortably. "Three times, in fact. Using a different name each time."

Legolas promptly shut up about the petition and Pippin disappeared into the kitchen real quick, then returned with another six-pack. True, it wasn't his beer and he probably had no right to it, but he would pay Merry back. Somehow. Just as he was about to start passing out cans, the front door opened and Merry himself arrived, armed with both his taser gun and his real gun, just in case somebody broke into his apartment and he finally, finally got to make an arrest. He took in the sight of Pippin and Sam sitting on the couch with one of his six-packs, Legolas sorting through some Treehugger's pamphlets he had brought with him, and Faramir sitting around without any pants on.

"Pip, why are all these people here?" he asked slowly, trying to avoid looking at Faramir.

Pippin thought fast and grinned at his cousin. "Um, hi Merry. Want a beer?"

"Sure. Hand it over."

Naturally beer solved everything, as it always did in the life of Peregrin Took.

* * *

At eight o'clock in the evening televisions in every human, elf, hobbit, dwarf, and perhaps even orc household were interrupted by a commercial break. Samwise Gamgee smiled nervously on the television screens, standing in the middle of a Wal-Mart aisle with a coil of rope in his hands.

"Have you been searchin' your whole life for the perfect rope?" Sam asked. "Well search no more! My old Gaffer always said there's a lot of use to be had in a bit of rope."

He held out the coil of rope in his hands, displaying how shiny and well crafted it was. "Real Elvish Rope! Only at Wal-Mart!"


	8. A Desperate Need For Therapy

A Desperate Need For Therapy

Haldir hated working two jobs.

First of all he knew absolutely nothing about cooking lembas bread, so half of the orders came out burned and he had to deal with angry customers yelling at him and threatening to sue the pants off him. He was so stressed from his failed cooking attempts that he couldn't work the cash register properly, and so he ended up overcharging and giving out the wrong change, which angered the customers even further and caused a couple of frustrated hobbits to throw tomatoes at him. Haldir desperately wished that Celeborn would come back to work, but he was still temporarily fired (and possibly still hungover) and Galadriel refused to help out.

"Here's your change, sir," Haldir murmured tiredly, handing a random amount of coins to Sam's old Gaffer. Luckily for him, the Gaffer couldn't count.

And because things simply weren't bad enough, Haldir's pointed ears perked up as the Gaffer shuffled away with his cabbage roasted lembas bread.

His Aragorn Sense was tingling.

With Celeborn out of action, Galadriel missing from the premises, and nobody but an exhausted Haldir to run the place, Aragorn apparently thought it was the perfect chance for him to sneak in. The moment he walked through the doors he tracked dirt onto the clean linoleum and he gave off the overall aura of someone who didn't care about personal hygiene. "I'll have a lembas bread special," he said, grinning at an exhausted, stressed out Haldir.

"Aragorn, please leave and don't return until you've had a bath," Haldir droned into his microphone.

"But Haldir, it isn't my fault. Strider works as a park ranger and has to track through the wild, Elessar is a doctor and often performs surgeries, Thorongil is a lawyer and doesn't have time for personal care, Estel simply doesn't know how to behave, Telcontar—"

"Aragorn, _you_ are all of those people," Haldir interrupted. "Don't blame your filthiness on your alter egos."

"Can I _please_ just have some lembas bread? Wingfoot has been on the road all day and he's starving."

Haldir dragged himself unhappily into the kitchen, burnt some lembas bread, and threw it into a crumpled paper bag for Aragorn. "Here, don't bother paying and get out. Maybe you should go see Gandalf. He specializes in all sorts of counseling."

"Hey, good idea. Thanks, Haldir buddy." Aragorn took his lembas bread and got into the shiny Mercedes he always drove when he was Elessar the doctor. He didn't notice that he tracked dirt on the upholstery and took off for Gandalf's office, eating his lembas bread one-handedly as he drove. After he almost crashed into a truck full of dwarves, ran a few red lights, and tossed his Elf-in-the-Box bag onto the highway, Aragorn arrived at the building where Gandalf ran his counseling office and parked sloppily in the parking lot, accidentally taking up two spaces with his car. Old Tom Bombadil had been his driving instructor back in high school, so poor Aragorn only knew how to drive like a crackpot.

There was nobody in the waiting room but an elf with some sort of dead animal on his face and Aragorn received some forms from the receptionist. He hesitated at the personal information section on the first form, unsure of how to fill out the line asking for his name. In the end he listed all of his names and had to write extra small to fit it all into the space provided, and he had to use an extra sheet of paper to list all of his occupations and employers. By the time he was finished his hand was cramping up and he needed to use the bathroom.

As soon as Aragorn looked up from his completed forms, he got a better look at the elf in the waiting room and his mouth fell open. "Celeborn, is that you?"

Celeborn had circles under his eyes and his clothes were almost as worn-out as Aragorn's. "Hey, Aragorn. What brings you here?"

"I'm not really sure, but Haldir seems to think I have problems. Why is there a dead animal on your face?"

"It's a _beard_. It was supposed to impress my wife, but now she hates me more than ever. I'm here to see Gandalf about marriage counseling."

"Couldn't you just take the beard off?"

Celeborn looked pitiful. "It's not that simple."

"Celeborn," the receptionist called out. "Mr. Gandalf is ready to see you."

The elf trudged off to his appointment, reeking of elven wine and old lembas bread, but Aragorn didn't notice anything unpleasant in the air. His allergies sure were terrible this time of year.

* * *

Meanwhile, Galadriel was heading into the local bookstore while her husband sought counseling and her cashier made a disaster of the kitchen. Her collection of Frodo Baggins novels still wasn't complete and she entered Barnes & Noble in search of _Wheel of Fire_, which had been recommended to her by Gimli. "You'll love it!" Gimli had told her over a bottle of dwarf ale yesterday. "It's loaded with symbolism and the emotion is _so_ deep!"

The novels of Mr. Baggins were kept in their own aisle of the store, complete with a cardboard cutout of Frodo himself that advertised his latest release. Galadriel immediately spotted _Wheel of Fire_ and was ready to happily make her purchase, when she noticed another female elf with a copy of that same title in her hands.

"Arwen?" said Galadriel.

Arwen turned her head and smiled when she saw Galadriel. "Oh, hey Grandma. I'm just doing some book shopping."

Galadriel didn't respond at first, as she was struck speechless with horror. Pinned to Arwen's stylish purple blouse was a large badge with the letters FBFC printed on it. "Young lady, what is _that_?" Galadriel demanded, pointing a shaking finger at the badge.

"Oh, this?" Arwen looked down at her blouse and laughed. "I've been a member of the Frodo Baggins Fan Club for weeks now, Grandma. Mr. Baggins is the most _adorable_ little writer. I've got a poster of him at home!"

"You are a disgrace to this family," Galadriel said through clenched teeth. "Mr. Baggins is not an object for your fangirlish amusement. He is a hobbit of great talent and everyone should respect his genius."

"Sure, he's an awesome writer," said Arwen. "But he also happens to look great on my wall."

"Next time I see your father I am going to have a long serious talk with him about you," Galadriel threatened. After parting ways with her unruly granddaughter, she purchased her new book and pulled out her cell phone to call Gimli. "Gimli, the FBFC is spreading at an alarming rate. We need to gain more members for the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club as soon as possible."

"Don't worry about it," said Gimli. "I'll make sure that the FBAC flourishes! I've already convinced my cousin Balin and my grandfather Groin to join our ranks."

Galadriel blinked. "What was that about your groin?"

"My _grandfather_, Galadriel. My grandfather's name is Groin. I don't see what's so strange about that."

Galadriel was glad they were on the phone, since she would hate to have Gimli see her snickering. "I'll call Haldir and tell him to meet at your place after work," she said once she had composed herself. "I'm sure he would love to meet your, um, _grandfather."_

* * *

Frodo felt like a zombie. He had failed to eat his breakfast once again, he only got an hour of sleep, and his pen felt like it was weighing him down each time he tried to wield it. If only dear old Sam were there to help him on his long, painful writing journey, but Frodo had spoken harshly to Sam that morning and told him to go to Wal-Mart and stay there. "I can't do this," Frodo gasped, letting go of his pen.

He hadn't checked his e-mail since yesterday, when he received the threat from his editor, and he waded through all the spam to find some actual e-mails. Suddenly amused, he clicked on a message bearing the subject line _Preciousssss_.

_Smeagol hates nasty hobbitses. _

_Wicked Baggins cannot write. Oh no, precious, he can't write at all. Curse him, precious! Gollum, gollum!_

_We knows the wicked Baggins is making more bookses, oh yes, we knowsss. And we wants it, precious. We wants it bad so we can burns it in our oven. Hurry up, nasty hobbit._

_—Smeagol/Gollum/Precious/We wants fisssh_

Frodo shook his head in disbelief. Gollum had always been his harshest critic, ever since the petting zoo incident. Gollum had been an exhibit at the local petting zoo a few months back and got fired for biting off Frodo's finger, when all Frodo wanted to do was pat him on the head and feed him some lembas bread. The filthy little creature had been bitter and unemployed ever since, and he had a habit of sending nasty e-mails every week or so. Frodo always just laughed them off.

Sadly it was one of the only things that cheered him up these days.

* * *

Pippin was exhausted when he got to Gondorian Motors. Sleeping on the couch had been uncomfortable last night and when he tried to crawl into Merry's bed, Merry threatened to taser him, and on top of that Pippin was hungover from all the beers he had with Legolas and the others. He was in no mood for selling cars and apparently Boromir wasn't either, because he was pacing back and forth worriedly.

Pippin yawned and trudged over to Boromir. "Hi, Boro-man. Everything okay?"

"No," said Boromir. "I'm worried about Dad. He's been watching way too much of the evening news lately and now he's shut himself up in his office. And he didn't yell at Faramir this morning, which means that something is _definitely_ wrong with him."

"Ever thought about taking him to therapy?" Pippin asked after yawning again. "Maybe some meds will fix him up."

"We've tried that already. A doctor put Dad on Prozac a while ago, but it had a bad effect on him. He ended up burning a neighbor's house down and we had a lawsuit on our hands."

"Well get him a cake or something. That always cheers old Bilbo up when me and my cousins go visit him at the retirement home." Pippin suspected that Bilbo only enjoyed the cake because Frodo always lied and told him there was dwarf treasure hidden inside it, but if it made the old hobbit happy then Pippin wasn't going to complain about it. He would never turn down free cake, after all.

Boromir glanced around the car lot, which was completely empty of customers for the time being. "All right. Let's close this place down for about an hour and go get Dad a cake with some candles on it. I know he really likes setting the candles on fire."

Pippin suddenly didn't feel so tired anymore. Everything was a hundred times better when there was free cake involved.


	9. Breakout

Breakout

Aragorn felt on top of the world.

Mr. Gandalf, the most awesome therapist in all of awesomeness, had sat down and talked with Aragorn about all of his multiple personalities, and then he went and prescribed some medical pipe-weed, the most awesome medicine in all of, well… in all of awesomeness. The only downside was that Aragorn was now extremely hungry, especially for some lembas bread drizzled in chocolate sauce, so he got into the fancy Mercedes he used while he was Elessar the doctor ("Hahaha, I'm a doctor," Aragorn giggled, finding that hilarious) and drove to Elf-in-the-Box.

What kind of name for a restaurant was Elf-in-the-Box though? Didn't elves live in trees? Aragorn would really love to take an elf and put him in a box, and maybe take him to the post office and ship him off to Mordor City or some crazy place like that.

"Ha! Mordor City!" said Aragorn, laughing out loud as he swerved off the road, ran over a fallen tree, and narrowly avoided crashing right into a fire hydrant. "Hahaha. Fire hydrant, oh my Valar!"

It was a miracle that Aragorn made it to Elf-in-the-Box in one piece.

He strode into the restaurant, highly amused when a bell tinkled overhead as he opened the door, and he was even more amused when he saw Haldir standing behind the counter looking irritable as usual. "Aragorn, what have I told you?" said Haldir, giving Aragorn his trademark Condescending Glare. "You still haven't taken a bath."

"Hey, you need to relax, man," said Aragorn, casually leaning his elbows on the counter. "Just relax and go with the flow."

"What are you talking out?"

"You need to chill, brother. And get me some chocolate covered lembas bread, because man, I feel like I could eat a herd of oliphaunts for real, bro."

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Haldir, raising a haughty eyebrow at Aragorn. "You haven't developed another strange personality, have you?"

"I'm Aragorn the Totally Cool," said Aragorn.

"And I'm calling security," said Haldir. "You're going to frighten the hobbit children and run us out of business, you fool."

Aragorn just shrugged his shoulders, not caring in the least bit, and proceeded to lie down on the floor of the restaurant so he could gaze up at the ceiling. "Those lights up there look just like stars," he murmured in awe. "They're so beautiful."

Haldir sighed and picked up the phone so he could call Galadriel, who continued to fail at making an appearance so she could perform her manager duties. They didn't really have security since their budget went towards importing high-quality lembas bread from Lorien Farms, but surely Galadriel could hire a dwarf or two to escort Aragorn from the premises. Just as Haldir was about to dial Galadriel's number, the door opened and Legolas came striding in, looking unusually dangerous.

"Aragorn!" he cried. "You have committed a direct violation against everything the Treehugger's Club has been working towards!"

"Oh, hey Lego my eggo," Aragorn said from his position on the floor. "Come over here and relax with me, man. Just kick back and forget about everything."

"Aragorn, I am appalled at your behavior," said Legolas, putting his hands on his hips. "You ran over a helpless fallen tree! How would you like it if you had fallen down and some jerk decided to run right over you? Do you have any idea what the therapy bills for that poor little tree's family are going to be like?"

"Duuuude," said Aragorn. "How did you even know about that? Are you stalking my every move or something?"

"Whenever there is a tree in pain, I always find out about it," Legolas said with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "_Always_. Now I'd like you to get up off your lazy rear and apologize to that poor tree right now."

Haldir watched Legolas hoist Aragorn to his feet and lead him out the door, and supposed that dwarf security was the wrong way to go. Perhaps Legolas would be willing to take on a job at Elf-in-the-Box, if Haldir offered him a high enough bribe and promised not to harm any trees, of course.

* * *

Denethor sat huddled on the living room couch, his knees drawn up to his chest as he muttered to himself and watched Palantir News Network. Some crackpot reporter was telling everyone that the world was bound to end in approximately three weeks and Denethor reminded himself to start digging an underground shelter for himself and Boromir. Faramir could fend for himself. He would probably end up building himself a sissy fort made out of carrot sticks anyway.

The news report cut to a commercial break and Sam's newest Wal-Mart commercial appeared on the TV screen.

Samwise Gamgee strolled down a Wal-Mart aisle with a bottle in his hand and smiled at the camera. "Gettin' older is hard and no mistake. Just ask my old Gaffer! But I've got a solution for all you folks out there who'd like to take off a few years."

The camera zoomed in on the bottle Sam held. "One Ring's Age-Away!" Sam declared proudly. "Only at Wal-Mart!"

"Use sparingly," said a male voiceover. "If you start to feel like butter scraped over too much bread, immediately contact your doctor."

Denethor glared at the television. "Wal-Mart does not have the authority to tell me what I can and can't buy. I will not listen to your clever marketing strategies!"

Suddenly the front door opened and Denethor tried to come up with a clever insult in case Faramir had come home, but he soon relaxed when Boromir, The Best Son in the Whole Wide World, came striding into the living room with a box in his hands. "Hey, dad. How was work?"

"Isengard Imports is still selling more cars than me," Denethor muttered. "It's probably Faramir's fault."

"Faramir doesn't even work for Gondorian Motors," Boromir pointed out. "He doesn't even have a job."

"Exactly. His lack of employment is a disgrace to this family!"

"Well cheer up, dad. Pippin and I went out and bought you a cake!" Boromir opened up the box, proudly displaying a vanilla frosted cake with an assortment of candles decorating its surface. "This is actually Cake #2. Pippin tried to eat the first one and got kicked out of Wal-Mart."

Denethor sat on the couch and gazed at the cake for a long moment. At last a vein began to throb on the side of his forehead. "What is this? It's not my birthday."

"Uh, yeah. I know it's not your birthday. I just thought it would be nice to get a cake since you seem stressed out lately."

"How could you have been fooled into thinking it is my birthday, Boromir? It is most certainly not my birthday. This is all Faramir's fault!"

"Dad, Faramir isn't even here right now. Are you feeling okay?"

"I can't stop watching the news," Denethor muttered, rocking back and forth on the couch. "All day, every day, it tells me things and I can't break free."

"Well maybe I should turn the TV off," Boromir suggested.

"No!" Denethor cried. "You don't understand, favorite son of mine. I need the regular news reports like I need air."

Suddenly the commercial break on television ended and a frantic looking news reporter showed up on television. "Breaking news!" she announced. "Bilbo Baggins, long-time retirement center inmate, has escaped from Rivendell Acres Retirement Facility. A search for Mr. Baggins has begun at once."

"This is all Faramir's fault!" Denethor shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the television.

Boromir shook his head sadly and went off to cut himself a piece of cake.

* * *

Faramir was tired of getting treated like a second-class citizen in his own home. He was tired of always coming in second place no matter what he did. Most importantly, he was sick and tired of being told to eat meat when he clearly preferred vegetables over animal carcasses that may or may not belong to the neighbors' pets.

For as long as Faramir could remember, his life had been ridiculously hard…

_The bleachers on the local high school football field were filled up with spectators who watched the football game eagerly, all except for one young man who was absorbed in some papers in his lap._

"_Faramir!" Denethor nudged his son sharply in the side, taking pleasure in the pained gasp his youngest boy emitted. "Pay attention and watch your brother play!"_

"_But dad, I have to study for my history test." Faramir didn't take his eyes off the notes in his lap._

"_Who in their right mind studies during a football game? In fact, who in their right mind studies at all? You'll never amount to anything, Faramir!"_

_Faramir ignored his father, which earned him a smack on the side of his head. "Ow!" Those rings Denethor wore sure hurt a lot. "I hope you know that you're abusing me on school grounds, Dad."_

"_I help keep the school funded," his father replied with an evil gleam in his eyes. "Now watch the game before Daddy burns you with his cigarette."_

_Poor Faramir never understood his father's odd fetish for fire, but it was best to get Denethor off that train of thought. Sighing, he looked up to see his older brother Boromir, prized captain of Minas Tirith High's football team, score yet another goal. "See that, Faramir?" said Denethor. "This is why I love Boromir so much more than you. I'm thinking about disowning you as soon as you graduate."_

_Faramir said nothing, though a tear welled up in each of his eyes. In the end Minas Tirith High defeated Osgilioth High thanks to Boromir's superb playing and Denethor cheered louder than everyone else. "THAT'S MY SON, EVERYBODY! MINE! MINE AND NOT YOURS!" He cackled madly at the other parents. "That Osgilioth High is full of weaklings. Perhaps I'll have you transferred there, Faramir."_

_"Thanks, Dad," Faramir muttered. He sighed and tried to reabsorb himself in his history notes._

Faramir shuddered at the memory of his high school days. He had been such an awkward teenager.

But everything was going to change from now on. Faramir would no longer allow his pyromaniac father to rule his life with an iron fist of tyranny. Faramir was going to break out! Faramir was going to rebel!

Faramir was going to have a fruits and veggies party and invite the whole neighborhood!


	10. Mark My Words

Mark My Words

Cirdan the infamous sailor elf strolled upon the docks, headed towards his ship with a bottle of rum in his hand. "Yo ho, yo ho, an Elvish life for me," he sang under his breath. "We're pretty, immortal, and really wise chaps, drink up me Elfies, yo ho!"

Suddenly he spotted something that made him gasp aloud and drop his bottle of rum. "Shiver me lembas bread! I can't believe me eyes!"

The person Cirdan was staring at was none other than Bilbo Baggins, recently escaped from Rivendell Acres Retirement Facility. Cirdan didn't have television on his ship, otherwise he would have known that elves all over the city were frantically searching for the elderly hobbit.

One of Bilbo's eyes began to twitch as he looked up at Cirdan. "Frodo, my lad, are we off to see the dragons? The wonderful dragons of Oz?"

"Nay, matey!" Cirdan growled, brandishing his cutlass. "What brings the likes of ye to me humble docks, eh?"

"Silly lad. Strawberries aren't in season yet!"

"Arr, yer one cannonball short of a full blast, laddie. Yer missing a few gold pieces from yer treasure chest, ye are."

Bilbo's eye continued to twitch and he didn't seem to hear a word Cirdan said to him.

Cirdan tugged thoughtfully at his magnificent beard. "But come to think of it, I could use me a first mate. I know naught of yer magic dragons, but there shall be swashbuckling adventures ahoy. What say ye?"

Bilbo raised one feeble hand in the air, his ears perking up at the mention of adventures. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire!" he cried.

"Aye, matey!" said Cirdan. "Welcome aboard!"

* * *

Faramir knew that his plan to hold an epic fruits and veggies party was a brilliant one. He would simultaneously irritate his father, get another chance to impress Eowyn, and partake in a nutritious meal without harming any animals.

There was just one problem: Faramir didn't have enough money to hold such an event.

He didn't have a job since his father refused to employ him at Gondorian Motors, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Denethor had spread terrible rumors about him to possible employers. Faramir had always intended to become a writer and earn his living that way, but he had yet to find inspiration for the perfect novel. Besides, how could he compete with a genius like Frodo Baggins?

Faramir only saw one realistic option if he wanted to raise enough money to throw a fruits and veggies party. He would have to go next door and offer to babysit his neighbor Beregond's son Bergil, a task that would surely leave him embarrassed for weeks on end. Everyone knew that baby-sitting was for thirteen-year-old girls, but what other choice did he have?

Making sure he was carefully hidden by his brother's oversized hooded sweatshirt so the neighbors wouldn't see him, Faramir walked next door and dearly hoped that Beregond's cat wasn't around to make rude hissing noises at him. Faramir was pretty sure that the cat was some long-lost relative of his father's, trapped in animal form forever, which explained why it always purred at Boromir and terrorized the living daylights out of Faramir.

Yep, that animal was definitely related to his father.

"Faramir, is that you?" a voice said just as he was about to cross over to the lawn next door.

It was Legolas, who clutched his usual stack of pamphlets with a determined gleam in his eyes. Out of all the people who could have discovered Faramir on his current mission, Faramir supposed that Legolas wasn't the absolute worst. The crazy elf ran around ranting about trees all day long, after all.

"What is it this time, Legolas?" Faramir asked wearily. "I'm kind of busy."

"Busy?" Legolas echoed. "You can never be too busy when nature itself is in peril! That's why I've arranged a nature hike in order to raise awareness about tree rights and encourage people to appreciate the beauty of the forest."

"That's... nice," said Faramir. "Hope you have fun with that."

"Well of course you're coming along! I wouldn't dream of having a nature hike without my favorite vegetarian."

"What does that have to do with anything? People don't eat trees."

The gleam in Legolas' eye turned dangerous. "But we eat the fruit that _grows_ on trees, Faramir! Did you ever stop and consider all the trouble trees go through in order to provide food for the general populace? And does anyone ever thank these hard-working trees? No, of course not."

"I'm, uh, very sorry about that."

"I'm thinking about starting a worker's union for fruit-bearing trees. The poor things don't even get paid! Mark my words, Faramir. There just might be a strike if this appalling behavior continues. _Mark my words._"

"Right," said Faramir. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I knew I could count on you, Faramir." Legolas brightened up immediately and handed Faramir a few of his fliers, which proudly advertised the nature hike. "Pass these out to your friends, okay? And next time you see a fruit tree, make sure you thank it for the nourishment it kindly provides without wages or health insurance."

Legolas apparently thought he had done his duty and skipped away, most likely bent on shoving his views down more people's throats. Sighing, Faramir folded up the fliers (for he respected written words too much to crumple them) and stuffed them into the pocket of Boromir's hoodie as he approached Beregond's doorstep.

He had a baby-sitting mission to embark on.

* * *

"I hereby call this meeting of the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club to order," said Galadriel, banging a mallet on Gimli's coffee table.

Haldir raised a perfect eyebrow. "I don't remember electing you as the club president."

"I don't remember being under your authority, Haldir," Galadriel shot back. "Are you forgetting who controls your meager salary?"

Haldir fell silent and reminded himself for the hundredth time that he should find a new job. He heard rumors that Edoras Fried Chicken treated its employees decently, though it seemed an awful lot like the type of place someone like Aragorn would eat at.

They were all gathered in Gimli's living room—Haldir, Galadriel, and Gimli, along with Gimli's father Gloin and his grandfather Groin—and Haldir was too bored to care about the uneven dwarf-to-elf ratio, though the incredibly loud breathing of the dwarves was starting to grate on his nerves. Gimli eagerly raised his glass of elf wine (courtesy of Galadriel), indicating his desire to speak.

"Have you heard the rumors about Frodo's new novel? It's supposed to come out in bookstores in just a few short months!"

"I certainly hope this new one is more uplifting than _Sailing Away_," Groin remarked. "That was the most depressing book I've ever read. The ending was hopeless!"

"I'm sure the new novel will meet everyone's tastes," said Galadriel. "Personally I'm more concerned about that horrid Fan Club. They'll probably throw a party at Barnes & Noble to celebrate the release and create more nauseating T-shirts and posters."

"Well obviously we have to thwart this party!" said Gloin. "Gatecrash their nonsense!"

Haldir was about to contribute with a condescendingly clever suggestion when the doorbell rang, interrupting the meeting. "I'll get it," he volunteered, eager to get a break from the dwarves and their heavy breathing.

He opened up the front door and gaped at the long-bearded person who stood before him. "Saruman?"

"Indeed," said Saruman.

* * *

Faramir was starting to regret baby-sitting young Bergil. How was he supposed to keep a ten-year-old entertained for two hours without both of them going mad? After the two of them stared awkwardly at each other for five whole minutes, Faramir cleared his throat and hoped the money would be worth it in the end.

"Um... what do you want to do, Bergil?"

"What do _you_ want to do?" said Bergil.

"Well, I like to read."

"Your dad says that reading is for sissies. I hear him say it all the time."

Faramir grimaced. "My father is not an expert on sissiness. How about I tell you a story?"

"One that you made up?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Whatever you want."

"This oughtta be good," said Bergil, wearing an evil ten-year-old grin that struck fear into Faramir's heart. "You're gonna fail!"

Determined to prove the kid wrong, Faramir situated himself on the living room couch with Bergil beside him and cleared his throat again. "This is the story of Little Red Strider Hood. Now Little Red Strider Hood was walking through the forest with a basket of purple frosted cupcakes for his adopted father Elrond. Elrond wasn't feeling very well because all the frowning he did was bad for his health.

"Little Red Strider Hood, or Strider for short, had heard that the woods were filled with all sorts of terrifying creatures, but he was confidant that he could scare them away with his lack of hygiene. You see, Strider hadn't bathed in several years, and so every time he approached a bird or a squirrel on the forest path, the poor creature took off running so it could dunk its poor nose into a pond or a stream.

" 'If by my life or death I can protect you, I will, Elrond,' Aragorn declared heroically. 'You have my cupcakes! And you have my purple frosting! And my basket!'

"Tom Bombadil, the most terrifying creature in the entire forest, took this as a personal challenge. He popped out from behind a bush wearing a bright blue jacket and yellow boots, the most dastardly clothing combination imaginable, and sung to Aragorn in rhyme.

" 'My, what purple cupcakes you've got! Let me taste one or I'll steal the whole lot!'

" 'But they're for my irritable adoptive father," said Strider, clutching the basket protectively to his chest. 'And why are you singing?'

" 'It's what I do, you fool in the hood! Hand over those cupcakes or I'll end you for good!'

" 'That is seriously annoying. Even more annoying than my allergies to soap and shampoo.'

" 'Well that's too bad, my unfortunate friend! I'll sing night and day, all the way to the end!'

"Luckily for Strider, brave and courageous Faramir Hood the Forest Outlaw was out hunting with his band of men, and he heard the commotion. 'Never fear!' Faramir Hood cried bravely. 'I shall save you!'

"He heroically strung his mighty bow and shot a magic arrow at Tom Bombadil, thus robbing him of his singing power forever. Strider was so grateful that he allowed Faramir Hood to have one of his purple frosted cupcakes, then hurried off through the forest to Elrond's house.

"But that wasn't all! Maid Eowyn, who had spent years admiring Faramir Hood from afar, stepped forward wearing a disguise so she would look like one of Faramir Hood's men. 'Faramir Hood, it is time for me to admit how I truly feel about your rugged, heroic self!' She pulled back her hood, allowing her long blonde hair to cascade down her back in a beautiful waterfall, and looked deeply into Faramir Hood's eyes.

"Faramir Hood was so overjoyed that he shared his purple frosted cupcake with Maid Eowyn.

"And everyone lived happily ever after. The end."

Having finished his story, Faramir looked at Bergil and expected to see him bright-eyed and eager, begging him for another brilliant tale. Instead Bergil sat with his head lolled against the couch, fast asleep.

Faramir sighed. "At least I'm getting paid for this."


	11. The Family Business

The Family Business

Haldir had expected all sorts of preposterous shenanigans at the very first meeting of the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club, but he hadn't expected Saruman, of all people, to come knocking at the door. "What in the name of the almighty lembas bread combo meal are you doing here?" Haldir demanded coolly, refusing to act flustered. "I believe the old codger convention is being held the next street over."

"There is a club meeting here, is there not?"asked Saruman, raising an eyebrow almost as condescendingly as Haldir himself.

"Yes, but I don't see how that's any of your business."

Saruman pushed past Haldir without another word and swept into Gimli's living room, taking in the sight of Galadriel, Gimli, Gloin, and Groin gathered around a stack of Frodo Baggins novels sitting on the coffee table. "Saruman!" Galadriel said in shock. "What in the name of Groin's highly amusing name are you doing here?"

"Is this the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club?" asked Saruman.

"The one and only," Gimli said proudly.

"Well then." Saruman sat down on a chair uninvited and folded his hands upon his lap. "I wish to join."

Haldir resumed his place on Gimli's couch and scoffed at the wizard. "You've got to be kidding me. Don't you have an imported car dealership to manage?"

"I have left Isengard Imports in the capable hands of my associates. I am here because it is my deepest wish to discuss the beautiful literature that has touched my soul." To everyone's surprise, Saruman's voice shook with emotion and a tear had appeared in each eye. "Go ahead and scoff at me, but I am one of Frodo Baggins' biggest fans. His writing has moved the deepest core of my being!"

Everyone watched in awkward silence as tears fell down Saruman's cheeks. "Who would have thought that a mere hobbit could be capable of creating such beautiful, soul-stirring work?" he continued. "Those novels have changed my life. My very _life_, I tell you!"

"Well, that's fascinating to hear," said Galadriel, quickly interrupting before Saruman became too emotional. "It's literary voting time! I want you all to write down the titles of your top three favorite Frodo Baggins novels."

Haldir pulled out a pen and snuck a derisive glance at Saruman, glad that _he _had never cried in public like that fool of a wizard. No, Haldir always made sure to cry over his Frodo Baggins novels in the privacy of his own home.

* * *

Frodo sipped nervously at his tea and wished that Sam was around in case he had a panic attack, but dear old Sam was busy filming yet another Wal-Mart commercial. Frodo only had to write one more chapter of his novel and then he would be finished, but that last chapter was such a great burden, and he feared he would succumb to the evil power of writer's block before he could complete his great task.

A loud knock at the door nearly gave poor Frodo a heart attack.

"He's found me at last!" Frodo cried in despair. "He must have _seen_ me."

There was no putting it off any longer. After taking deep breaths like his stress therapist had instructed, Frodo opened the front door and looked up at his tall, imposing editor who stood in the doorway. Shrouded in darkness, his editor was even scarier in person than he was over telephone and e-mail.

"So I have caught you at last, my elusive hobbit," he said, and even the sound of his voice was enough to make Frodo tremble.

"I-I'm sorry," Frodo stammered. "I've been ill."

"So you say. I expected your completed manuscript a week ago, Mr. Baggins."

"I know, I know. It's just, this novel is such a great weight to carry. And it grows heavier by the day!"

"That is no excuse." The editor finally stepped into Frodo's home and took off his long black cloak, revealing himself to be none other than... Elrond. "But lucky for you, I've got bigger matters to worry about than your silly book."

Nobody, not even dear Sam, knew the identity of Frodo's editor, and Frodo knew that if he ever told anyone he would likely end up at the bottom of the sea, because Elrond was more than just an editor. He also happened to be the feared leader of the Elvish Mafia and Frodo was afraid that these "bigger matters" were somehow linked to the mob.

"I'll take tea," Elrond said as he seated himself at Frodo's kitchen table. It was not a request, but an order, and Frodo immediately obeyed it.

"What brings your powerful self to my humble home if it isn't about the manuscript, sir?" Frodo asked nervously.

"I'm sure you've heard the news about Rivendell Acres Retirement Facility."

"Actually I can't watch television. It's bad for my nerves."

"Well my family owns that joint," said Elrond. "And we aren't too happy about Bilbo Baggins escaping. Your uncle, or cousin, or whatever he is, made a great errand runner because he's crazier than Tom Bombadil on crack and never asked any questions. Thought he was on one of his ridiculous adventures, you know?"

Frodo Baggins stared at Elrond in surprise. "I never knew that about Bilbo."

"Well of course not. We trained him to keep his mouth shut. But now that our best errand runner is out of action, it's hurting the Family Business, and things could get real ugly."

Frodo didn't like the sound of this. "I'm, uh, sorry about your Family Business and all."

"Are you really?" Elrond's voice was downright dangerous. "Or are you just saying that to cover up the fact that you know something about Bilbo's whereabouts?"

"But I don't know where he is!" Frodo said truthfully.

"You've probably heard rumors that my wife is in Vegas. She's been there for years because she was going to get whacked by one of my rivals. _You_ could end up getting whacked yourself, Mr. Baggins, and I won't be generous enough to send you to Vegas before it happens."

"I swear I don't know anything!" Frodo cried, positively trembling with fear. "I'm just an innocent hobbit making a living!"

"If I receive word about any suspicious behavior from you, I _will_ be back," Elrond promised. "And finish that book or else you'll really have something to be sorry about."

And with that parting threat, Elrond walked out the door, leaving Frodo to panic all alone.

* * *

The next day shone bright and sunny, the perfect weather to suit Sam Gamgee's mood as he strolled to the garden section of Wal-Mart to begin his greeting. Sam did love saying hello to all the kind folks who took the trouble to shop at Wal-Mart, and he heard there was a whole shipment of new flowers to admire. Even that pesky Gollum couldn't ruin his mood that morning!

That is, until Sam reached his usual spot and found a man standing there, armed with a gun and a walkie-talkie. "Hey, you!" he barked at Sam. "Let me see some identification!"

"Who are you, Mr. Stranger sir?" Sam asked. "Begging your pardon and all, but I work here."

"Well so do I," said the man. "And I demand to see your ID."

"I'm mighty sure I know all the faces round here, if you take my meanin', sir. I'd like a name first, if you please."

The man sighed, though he didn't look any less threatening. "I'm Eomer, the new security guard. Thanks to the success of its latest commercials, Wal-Mart can afford to hire me now."

"Well why didn't you just say so, Mr. Eomer?" Sam said brightly. "Samwise Gamgee at your service, and welcome to Wal-Mart! Most folks are real interested in our flowers, though I'm mighty fond of our miniature fruit trees myself. My old Gaffer says that—"

"You there!" Eomer yelled, interrupting Sam's chatter. "What business does an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in Wal-Mart?"

A random elf, man, and dwarf all gaped at Eomer with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Speak quickly!" Eomer barked, pulling out his taser.

"We- we just wanted to look at some daffodils!" the elf stammered. "That's all!"

"Very well," Eomer said gruffly. "You may pass."

Sam wasn't sure if he should be terrified or awed at Eomer's security guard skills. "Um, I hope you don't mind me askin', Mr. Eomer sir, but have you seen anybody named Gollum round these parts? Nasty sort of creature, wears boxer shorts and always goes on about his precious?"

"Be assured, he will _never_ set foot on this property," Eomer said dangerously.

Sam was frightened into silence, but that silence didn't last long. "Sam! Sam!" a familiar voice called out.

Seconds later Legolas came sprinting into Wal-Mart as fast as his legs could carry him and knocked over an old lady in his haste to reach Sam. "I tried calling you, but you didn't answer," said Legolas. "I'm putting together an emergency meeting!"

"Hold it, elf boy!" said Eomer, prodding Legolas with the police baton he kept on his utility belt. "One does not simply walk into Wal-Mart. State your name and business!"

"I'm Legolas," Legolas said irritably. "And I'm here to talk to my friend Sam."

"Are you having a Treehugger's meeting or a Daddy Issues meeting?" Sam asked in confusion.

"Both, I guess. You see, my dad is drunk."

"It probably ain't my place to say, Mr. Legolas, but, well... your old dad is _always_ drunk."

"I know," Legolas said sadly. "But this time he's gone completely crazy. He wants to cut down the biggest tree in the neighborhood and put a drive-through coffee stand in its place!"

Sam gasped aloud. "That poor tree! Don't anybody have respect for growin' things no more?"

"This is why you have to come with me! I already managed to get Pippin out of work early and he's waiting at Faramir's house."

Luckily for Sam, Eomer was more than willing to take over his duties and Sam followed Legolas to Faramir's house. Faramir opened the door, munching on something, and held out a hand to them both. "Hi guys. Want some celery sticks?"

"Faramir, this is not the time for celery sticks," Legolas said seriously. "Where's Pippin at?"

"He's on the couch, drinking all of Boromir's beer and eating all of my mushrooms," Faramir replied.

"Lego-buddy! Sam!" Pippin said happily as his friends entered the living room. "This sure beats working, doesn't it? These mushrooms are delicious!"

"Guys, we need to get organized here," said Legolas. "We all know why we're here, right? We need to band together and stop my crazy father before he harms that poor, helpless tree!"

"As the expert on crazy fathers, I think I should lead this mission," Faramir volunteered. "Unless somebody else wants to?"

"Not me, Mr. Faramir," said Sam. "I'm all shaken up over our scary new security guard at Wal-Mart."

"Don't remind me," muttered Pippin. "Now that Eomer's gone to work for Wal-Mart, Merry's gotten promoted. He keeps rubbing it in my face because he finally gets to arrest people."

Legolas glanced down at his green watch that was shaped like a tree leaf. "Well, we'd better get going. Who knows what damage Dad could have done? For trees everywhere!" he yelled, mimicking a battle cry.

"For sons with dysfunctional families!" Faramir shouted.

"For victims of alcoholism!" Pippin declared ironically.

"For my old Gaffer!" Sam cried.

And the four of them set off.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Raise your hand if you thought Frodo's editor was Sauron all this time. Fooled you! Sauron _will_ have a role in this story, but that role is a secret for now. I've really been motivated to work on this lately, so you can probably expect another fast update!


	12. Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

"Welcome to Elf-in-the-Box," Haldir droned into his microphone. "Can I take your order?"

"Yeah, I'd like to order a nice tall glass of payback, along with a side order of serves-you-right," said a voice.

"Celeborn?" said Haldir, looking at the speaker in surprise. "Since when do you come here to order? And what happened to you?"

Celeborn was no longer wearing the fake beard Cirdan had given him, and for some strange reason he was wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase. "I'm tired of getting bossed around by my wife, so I quit. I'm going to a job interview for a _real_ job."

Haldir raised a condescending eyebrow. "Is this really necessary? Galadriel has probably forgiven you by now."

"I doubt it. She's cheating on me, remember?"

"Actually she isn't. She and Gimli have formed a club to appreciate their favorite author."

Celeborn laughed bitterly. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. I refuse to believe your lies, Haldir."

"I happen to be telling the truth, but suit yourself," said Haldir. "Now step out of the way so that other customers can order."

Celeborn stepped aside and walked out the door, his head held haughtily in the air, and Haldir went back to his microphone. "Welcome to Elf-in-the— Oh no. How many times have I told you that you're banned? Remember what happened last time you were here?"

"I'm really sorry," Aragorn whispered, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "But I'm not here to order any food. I need to hide and this is the best place I could think of."

"And why exactly would you need to hide? Did someone threaten you with soap and water?"

"No, it's even worse than that. I think Thorongil wants to seriously hurt me."

Haldir resisted the urge to bash his head against the cash register. "Aragorn, _you_ are Thorongil. I thought you went to a therapist to have this corrected."

"I did, but then I smoked all the medical pipe-weed Gandalf gave me. I should have shared some of it with Thorongil, otherwise he wouldn't be so bent on my destruction."

"Hey, what's the hold-up?" said an irritable dwarf waiting in line behind Aragorn. "I want my lembas and ketchup!"

"Haldir, just do me this one favor," Aragorn hissed. "I swear I'll use a little soap next time I come in, all right?"

"Fine," said Haldir. Fearing an angry dwarf riot, he quickly hid Aragorn in the kitchen and resumed his order-taking duties, wishing Galadriel hadn't decided to take an hour-long break. The last thing they needed was an unwashed, personality-confused man in their kitchen during the workday.

* * *

The Neighborhood Tree Rescue Party, so named by Legolas, marched through the neighborhood Legolas lived in with the intent of thwarting Thranduil's evil, drunken plans. "There he is!" Legolas cried, pointing at an elf wielding a giant saw.

Thranduil wore his usual green bathrobe and crown made out of leaves, and a few empty wine bottles were scattered around the largest tree in the neighborhood. "I don't want anyone, you see. When I think about you I cut this tree!" Thranduil sang.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how that song goes," said Pippin.

"There's a real mental case and no mistake," Sam muttered.

"Halt!" Faramir ordered, stepping towards Thranduil. "We cannot allow you to cut down that tree."

Confused, Thranduil stared blearily at the group until his eyes settled on Legolas. "Legoboy!" he cried happily. "Are you finally ready to let loose and learn to party it up with your old man? I see you brought some friends to help us get down and boogie."

"No, Dad," said Legolas. "I don't want to party it up and I never will. Get away from that tree!"

"What tree?" said Thranduil. "Son, you're not looking at a tree. You're looking at the future home of Thranduil's Drive-Through Coffee House!"

Pippin realized that this conversation was going nowhere and decided to use his persuasive car salesman charm. "Why hello there, fine sir," he said, winking up at Thranduil. "An intelligent elf like yourself ought to know that this tree is the wrong place to build. I can offer you up some _much_ better sites."

"What's wrong with this spot?" asked Thranduil.

"It's, uh... well, it's haunted. By coffee-hating spirits."

Legolas smacked himself in the forehead. "Now you've done it, Pippin."

"Is that so?" said Thranduil. "Well in that case, these spirit dudes are going _down_, like a sinking ship, brother. Legoboy, care to sing your pops an inspirational tree-cutting song so he can get down to business?"

"Why would _I_ know a tree-cutting song?" Legolas demanded. "I'm the president of the Treehugger's Club. You don't know anything about me, Dad!"

"Guys, can't we all just get along?" said Faramir. "Thranduil, can't you respect your son's wishes and find someplace else to build?"

"Look, bro, I've got Lego's best interests at heart," said Thranduil. "I know what's best for that groovy son of mine, and what he needs is the smell of freshly brewed coffee as he strolls through the neighborhood. Am I right?"

"Well, there's only one way I can solve this problem," said Legolas.

"What is it?" asked Sam.

Legolas flashed a determined grin. "I'm going to have to live in that tree."

* * *

"Hey Dad, I sold another sports car today," Boromir announced as he entered his father's office at Gondorian Motors. "Dad? Did you hear me?"

"Not now," Denethor muttered. "I'm busy."

Boromir found that hard to believe, since Denethor didn't appear to be doing anything at all. He merely sat behind his desk with his hands in his lap and his head bowed, and... "Wait a minute." Boromir approached Denethor and pulled him away from the desk so he could see what was in his lap. "Dad! Are you _texting?_"

"So what if I am, favorite son of mine?" said Denethor, continuing to push the buttons on his cell phone at a rapid pace.

"I didn't know you had a social life. Who on earth could you possibly be texting with?"

Denethor scowled and immediately shoved the phone into his pocket. "As much as I favor you over your pathetic brother, that is _definitely_ none of your business. Now run along like a good son and sell more cars!"

Casting one last worried glance at his father, Boromir left the office and Denethor pulled his phone back out with a sigh of relief.

_work sux_, he texted.

_sry man_, replied Sauron, a friend Denethor had met online recently. _set it on fire?_

_i tried that. stoopid 2nd son hid da matches omg. _

_then set HIM on fire lol._

_haha good idea._

Denethor chuckled as he sent his text. Sauron was filled with great ideas for torturing Faramir and his suggestions had Denethor laughing for hours on end. "Oh, buddy of mine," Denethor murmured to his cell phone. "What would I do without you?"

"Hey, boss," said Pippin, bursting into the office unannounced.

Denethor quickly hid his cell phone again. "Peregrin Took, didn't anyone teach you how to knock? What do you want?"

"_Well_..." Pippin mustered up all of his hobbit charm and looked at Denethor with big eyes. "After all the hard, back-breaking work I've done around here, I think I deserve a raise. Don't you agree?"

"No," said Denethor.

"But beer and pipe-weed doesn't pay for itself!"

"No."

"I'm the best thing that's ever happened to this place!"

"No."

"My uncle's cousin's nephew's aunt's brother three times removed on my father's side is a lawyer, and he'll sue the pants off you!"

"Your threats do not frighten me, Peregrin. But there is a way you can _earn_ a higher salary."

"How?" Pippin asked eagerly.

Denethor learned towards Pippin conspiratorially. "I want you to bring me... a McDeagol's burger."

Pippin blinked. "That's it?"

"Did I request anything else, Peregrin Took? No! Now get a move on!"

Terrified of being lit on fire, or worse, Pippin hurried out of Denethor's office and caught a bus to McDeagol's, a burger chain that was almost as popular as Elf-in-the-Box, though personally Pippin preferred Elf-in-the-Box's free drink refills. The bus was so crowded he was forced to sit next a heavily bearded dwarf who looked like he could eat Pippin alive if he wanted to.

"Uh, hi," Pippin muttered. "Nice day today."

The dwarf grunted at him.

"Excuse me?" a hand tapped Pippin on the shoulder, and when Pippin turned around he found a female elf in the seat behind him. "Oh. Never mind," she said. "For a moment I thought you might be Frodo Baggins. I've always wanted to meet him!"

Pippin grinned at her. "Well I happen to be his charming cousin. Pippin Took, classy car salesman at your service."

The elf wore two badges on her shirt, one that said "FBFC" and another that said "Support Frodo Baggins," and her face lit up with delight. "Are you really? Do you think you could get me his autograph?"

"No problem."

"Great! I'm Arwen, by the way." Arwen wrote down her phone number and address for Pippin so he could contact her as soon as he got the autograph. "Tell Mr. Baggins that I'm his biggest fan, will you?"

"Sure thing." Pippin smirked to himself. He had successfully gotten an elf woman's phone number, just because he was related to Frodo. The day wasn't so bad after all.

Pippin cheerfully waved farewell to Arwen when the bus reached his stop, and to make his good fortune even better, he found that he didn't have to wait in line at McDeagol's. Gollum's cousin Deagol, who managed the restaurant, smiled creepily at Pippin and took his order.

And that's when Pippin's luck ran out. "Son of a mushroom!" he cried. "I don't have enough money to pay for that burger! This is why I need a raise."

"Well then no burger for you," Deagol said smugly.

"Can't we make a deal here? I can pay you back later?"

"I don't think so. Payment now, or no burger."

"Um, it's my birthday?" Pippin tried. "And I want it?"

Deagol glared at him. "I don't fall for that excuse."

"What if I told you I'm starving on the street and haven't eaten in three days? Would you give it to me then?"

"Nope," Deagol said stubbornly. "No begging allowed."

The hobbit girl working the cash register next to Deagol heaved a sigh. "I'll pay for his burger." The nametag on her shirt said "Diamond" and she pulled out her wallet to find the necessary money to complete Pippin's purchase.

"Wow, thanks!" said Pippin.

Diamond shrugged. "You're holding up the line."

"Yeah, get out of here," said Deagol, shaking his fist at Pippin.

Pippin hurried out of the restaurant, clutching the bag containing Denethor's burger, and caught a bus back to Gondorian Motors. He had a feeling he would be eating at McDeagol's quite often in the near future, and it wasn't because of Deagol.


	13. Miracles Do Happen

Miracles Do Happen

"Legoboy, can't you come down already?" Thranduil called up from the base of the tree Legolas was currently living in. "You're throwing off my groove."

"Sorry, dad," Legolas said from his spot up in the branches. "Staying in this tree is the only way to protect it!"

Legolas had only been living in the tree for a few hours, but he had already made himself comfortable with a blanket, a pillow, and a shelf full of food. True, he would have to postpone the nature hike he had planned, and he would have to miss out on his Treehugger's Club and Daddy Issues meetings, but it was better than letting his father chop down an innocent tree. He had allowed his father's antics to go on long enough, and it was about time somebody thwarted his insanity.

"Whatever, man," said Thranduil. "Gonna go hit up the convenience store and get me some more elf wine." He stumbled away, leaving Legolas to commune with nature in peace.

"Good riddance," Legolas muttered. He then proceeded to tell his new tree friend all about his life, including that time when he was an elfling and won the school archery competition, and the time several decades ago when his father forgot his birthday and ran off to go disco roller skating by himself.

"I really should move out," Legolas told the tree. "But if I leave Dad alone he'll probably end up getting arrested or something. Did you know that I have to remind him to put pants on _every _single morning? And he's always threatening to kidnap the dwarves who live down the street and stuff them into wine barrels. I don't like dwarves much either, but that's a little harsh, don't you think?"

The tree didn't reply, but Legolas could feel sympathy radiating from its branches.

"You know, all I really wanted was a good listener," said Legolas. "Everyone thinks I'm just a crazy, tree-loving elf, but I've got feelings too. I just choose to express them in a unique way!"

The tree's leaves rustled in the wind.

"I'm trying to improve work conditions for your fruit-bearing cousins," Legolas told it. "I might even organize a strike. You trees are lucky you've got someone like me who cares!"

His new friend didn't say anything, but Legolas chose to think that it was deeply grateful.

* * *

"My shift is over," Haldir informed Aragorn, who was hiding out in the Elf-in-the-Box kitchen drinking a chocolate Elf Shake. "You're going to have to leave."

Aragorn took a drag on his straw. "Are you guys hiring?"

Haldir was caught off guard. "What?"

"I said are you hiring? Estel could really use a job."

"There's no way that Estel, or any other of your ridiculous personalities could possibly get a job here, Aragorn. Your fleas alone would frighten all the customers away."

"I don't have fleas," Aragorn said seriously, then paused to scratch one of his arms.

"Sure you don't. Now I suggest you get your filthy self out of this restaurant before I decide to call the cops. Or worse, Galadriel."

Aragorn stubbornly remained where he was and finished the last of his Elf Shake. "You guys don't even have a fry cook anymore. What if I decided to clean up a little bit, maybe use shampoo once in a while? Then would you think about hiring me?"

"Impossible," Haldir declared.

"What's impossible?"

"You being clean."

"Hey, it could happen! I just need to learn how to take a bath, and then I'll be fine."

Suddenly Haldir got an idea, and he wanted to kick himself because it was probably the worst idea he had gotten since the time he tried smiling at a customer. The man had nightmares for days. "I think I have a solution," Haldir said with a sigh. "It's about time you've met my brothers."

* * *

Pippin had officially taken up residence at Merry's apartment, since he was tired of his parents sighing in his general direction, though he was still stuck sleeping on his cousin's couch. He came home first and wasn't surprised at all when ten minutes later, the front door burst open and Merry appeared in his police uniform, holding his gun out.

"Nope, I'm still not a burglar," Pippin informed him.

Merry put the gun down, looking disappointed. "If somebody _did _try to rob the place, you would call me, right?"

"Sure thing," Pippin lied. Personally he didn't see the appeal of threatening criminals at gunpoint and putting handcuffs on them, but he supposed he had always been the more sensitive type. Denethor would gleefully call him a sissy, but Denethor was a nutcase.

Merry decided to polish his police gear, which included his gun, taser, and walkie-talkie, while Pippin got himself a beer and fidgeted on the couch. "So..." he said uncomfortably. "Merry, can I ask you a question?"

"You're finally moving back in with your parents?" Merry asked hopefully.

"No. It's a little more... delicate than that."

"You didn't sell pipe-weed to underage hobbit children again, did you?"

"No, I'm past that phase, I swear!" Pippin continued fidgeting, unsure of how to word his question. "It's just, that... when you're working and everything, do you ever encounter any, _you know_, any lady hobbits?"

"Why? You hoping I can set you up with someone? Most of the ladies I meet are criminals, Pip."

Pippin now felt more awkward than ever; even more awkward than all those times his sisters had sleepovers and the house was filled with giggling girls who wanted to play dress-up with him. "Actually, no. I kind of already found a girl on my own. I met her today, actually."

Merry's attention was no longer on his gun, or any other object for that matter, and he smirked at Pippin. "This ought to be good. The only time you've ever dated was when you were ten and a neighborhood girl invited you to her tea party."

"Don't rub it in," muttered Pippin. "What should I do? She barely even knows I exist!"

"How did you meet her then?"

"Her name's Diamond. She works behind the counter at McDeagol's and paid for my burger when I didn't have enough money. She said I was holding up the line."

"Sounds romantic," said Merry.

Pippin glared at him. "Like you could do any better."

"I _know_ I could do better. I just happen to have a career to focus on."

"Well I'll make you a bet. If I get Diamond to date me within a week, you have to sleep on the couch and I get the bed for a month."

"And if you lose?" asked Merry.

"If I don't get her to date me, I'll... I'll give up second breakfast for a month!"

"You have yourself a deal, Pip."

The two of them shook hands, sealing the bet, and Pippin knew he would be in serious trouble if he lost. Second breakfast was _everything_ to him.

* * *

"Dude," said Rumil, looking at Haldir in mild horror. "You've finally gone crazy."

"Maybe it's not the real Haldir standing on our doorstep right now," said Orophin. "It could be an imposter Haldir."

"Thanks a lot, you two," said Haldir, giving both his brothers a Condescending Glare. "I am not an imposter and I have not gone crazy, for your information. Elf-in-the-Box desperately needs a new fry cook and I need you to help make him suitable."

Aragorn, who stood next to Haldir, looked guiltily down at the dirt he had tracked onto the welcome mat. "I would really appreciate the help, you guys."

"Dude, don't you have several jobs?" Rumil asked him. "Couldn't you like, afford to buy enough soap to last you for fifty years?"

"Actually, none of those jobs are real," Aragorn confessed, looking even guiltier. "I'm not really a doctor or a park ranger or anything else. I'm just a guy who never learned how to use soap and water."

"It appears your life has reached new levels of failure," Haldir remarked. "Which means I have no choice but to force you to change your sorry ways. Rumil, Orophin. You know what to do."

Rumil and Orophin led a nervous looking Aragorn off to the bathroom, while Haldir sat down on the couch and lost himself in _Half as Well as You Deserve_, a Frodo Baggins novel Gimli had lent him at the club meeting. "So Mr. Baggins _does _have a sense of humor," said Haldir, chuckling casually (for he rarely laughed outright) at a particularly clever paragraph.

"What on earth is _that?" _said Aragorn's voice, coming from the bathroom.

"Lilac scented bubble bath!" said Orophin's voice. "It will help you smell socially acceptable."

"Isn't it kind of girly? No offense."

"_Real_ men use bubble bath," Orophin said firmly. "Now get in the tub."

Haldir allowed himself another casual chuckle as he listened to the ordeal happening in the bathroom ("No, Aragorn, shampoo is _not _poisonous, I swear!") and paged through his book. His brothers had done a disastrous job on Faramir when they attempted to upgrade him, but Haldir had a feeling this project with Aragorn would be a success. The sheer amusement alone would be worth it.

Rumil and Orophin spent over an hour on Aragorn, and Haldir finished his novel by the time Aragorn trudged out into the living room, looking sulky, while Rumil and Orophin looked triumphant. The change in Aragorn was astounding: all of the dirt and grime had been washed away, his hair had been neatly trimmed, and he was attired in clean clothes.

Rumil nudged Aragorn in the side. "How do you feel, bro? Like a changed man?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to this deodorant," Aragorn said unhappily.

"It's good for you," said Orophin. "Like eating your vegetables."

Haldir arched a favorable eyebrow at the new-and-improved Aragorn. "Looks like you'll be starting work tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

Satisfied that his brothers had done a job well done, he flicked on the television and watched the new Wal-Mart commercial.

Samwise Gamgee strolled down the aisles as usual with his hands behind his back. "You know what you can boil, mash, and stick in a stew?"

He brought his hands out, holding a potato in each one. "Why, taters of course! And you know where you can find the very best taters? Only at Wal-Mart!"


	14. A Long-expected Veggie Party

A Long-expected Veggie Party

Saturday arrived and Faramir had enough baby-sitting money to hold his fruits and veggies party at long last. Luckily his father had to go to some car dealership convention (though he looked awfully shifty and clutched his cell phone tightly to his chest every time Faramir glanced at him) so with Boromir's help he set up tables, chairs, and enough vegetarian food to feed a whole colony of rabbits for a month. Or a whole family of hobbits for an afternoon. As Faramir was arranging a particularly lovely strawberry display, he went over his mental list of party guests.

Pippin would automatically attend any event that offered free food, or any food in general, and he promised to bring Merry and Sam, who might convince Frodo to show up. Legolas had originally planned to come, but he was currently living in a tree and refused to come down. Fortunately the elves would be represented by Haldir, who heard about the party when Faramir stopped into Elf-in-the-Box for some lembas bread, and Beregond next door said he was interested.

And of course Faramir couldn't forget the most important guests of all: the ones his brother had invited.

"You're _sure_ you convinced Eomer and Eowyn to come?" he asked Boromir for the fifth time. "And you gave them the correct date and time?"

"Faramir, you've asked me that five times now," said Boromir. "Yeah, I did exactly as you asked me to, okay? And try not to be obvious when you flirt with Eowyn. Her brother might kill you."

But Faramir was too lightheaded with excitement to worry about murderous brothers. In about twenty minutes his guests would start arriving and he would finally get a chance to prove himself worthy to his lovely lady!

"Hey, have you been able to get a hold of Dad at all?" Boromir asked, interrupting Faramir's thoughts. "I've been calling him on his cell phone all day, but he hasn't responded."

"Why would I try to call Dad?" asked Faramir. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's blocked my number."

"He's been texting an awful lot lately. Don't you find that suspicious?"

"Compared to all the times he's sat in front of the TV muttering to himself, looked at the neighbors' pets with a hungry gleam in his eye, and walked around with a box of matches in his hands, caressing it like it was a beloved kitten? No, not really."

"You have a point, little brother," said Boromir.

"Are you sure you convinced Eomer and Eowyn to come to my party?" Faramir asked yet again, forgetting all about the conversation concerning his father.

Boromir sighed. "For the last time, Faramir, _yes_. I lied and told them it's the best party on the block, so you're going to have some explaining to do when they get here, but I'm sure you'll figure something out, right?"

"Right," said Faramir, though he suddenly felt more insecure than ever.

* * *

"Sam?" Frodo asked, looking even paler than usual. "You haven't happened to see any... elves dressed in dark suits lingering around, have you?"

Sam looked dumbfounded. "Of course not, Mr. Frodo. Am I supposed to see any of them elves anywhere?"

"No!" Frodo said quickly. "Forget it, Sam." He hadn't seen any sign of Elrond or any other members of the dreaded Elvish Mafia, but suspicious e-mails had been appearing in his inbox from unfamiliar addresses, threatening to hold his mushrooms and tea hostage if he informed the authorities.

"Are you sure you're up to goin' to Mr. Faramir's party?" Sam asked. "You've got dark circles under your eyes."

"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo said hollowly. "Attending this party is the only way I can find any peace." He only had a few pages of his novel left to write, but that didn't mean that the Elvish Mafia wouldn't come and whack him anyway, simply for taking so long to finish the book. A party in a public place, with plenty of people, was the only way to protect himself.

"It's that books of yours that's got you all paranoid," Sam said worriedly. "Haven't I told you time and again to take a break from writing, Mr. Frodo? Maybe go on a trip somewhere and— Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo had developed a strange gleam in his eyes and he clutched at the stack of papers sitting on his desk. "The book is mine!" he declared.

"He's gone and claimed it for himself!" Sam said in dismay. "Now that ol' editor will never see it."

"Mine, mine alone!" Frodo hissed at his manuscript. "My precious, precious book. But no," he murmured, beginning to look more like his old self. "No, I must publish it. Publish it once and for all!"

"That's it, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "You've got to give it up. Can't you see how it's eatin' away at you?"

"I will take it," Frodo said, sounding stronger. "I will take the book to my editor! Though I do not know the way to end this chapter."

"That's the spirit, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "Come on, let's get you ready for that party."

* * *

Pippin walked through the parking lot of McDeagol's and checked his reflection in the window of a car. "Not too bad, Pip my man," he murmured to himself. "Not too bad. Go get 'em, tiger!"

Working at Gondorian Motors had taught Pippin to be very persuasive, and as he walked through the doors of McDeagol's he pretended that this was just another car sale, and that Diamond was just another customer. Lucky for him, Deagol was nowhere in sight and Pippin strolled right up to Diamond, who stood boredly behind the hobbit-sized counter operating the cash register.

"Why hello there, pretty lady," said Pippin. He used that same exact line on an elf woman last week and successfully sold her a car that way. "Can I interest you in the offer of a lifetime?"

Diamond looked up from the register and frowned at Pippin. "Would you like to order something?"

"I'd like to order a few minutes of time with your lovely self. What do you say?"

"Sir, I'm going to call security if you don't behave," Diamond warned.

"You're right, I'm being rude," said Pippin. "I forgot to introduce myself! The name's Took, Peregrin Took, but you can call me Pippin."

Diamond looked unimpressed. "Either order something or leave, please."

"Wait!" Pippin said quickly. "Listen, there's this party my friend is having and he said I could invite anyone I wanted, so it would really make my day if you went with me. Please?"

"I'm working right now."

"Take a lunch break."

"I did already."

"Take _another _lunch break," Pippin suggested.

Diamond glared at him. "Mr. Took, please leave this restaurant."

"But can't you just—"

"SECURITY!"

Pippin's courage vanished entirely and he finally backed out of the restaurant, though as he walked out the door he had the nerve to shout, "This isn't over!" at Diamond.

He would just have to try a different angle next time.

* * *

"Are they here yet?" Faramir asked Boromir for the tenth time. "What if she thinks my outfit looks stupid? What if she's allergic to any of the food I put out? Oh no, Dad was right when he said I would be alone for the rest of my life!"

"Get a hold of yourself, bro," said Boromir. The two of them were currently in the house, waiting for the party guests to arrive, and Boromir was pretty sure he would scream with manly rage if Faramir asked one more repetitive question. "Just calm down and chew some carrot sticks or something."

Suddenly the doorbell rang and Faramir cast a nervous glance at Boromir. "What if it's Eowyn? What should I do?"

"Answer the door, obviously."

"That's a great idea." Faramir quickly fixed his hair and opened the door, then spent a good five seconds staring at the person standing outside. "Aragorn, is that _you?_"

"Of course it's me," said Aragorn. "I heard there's a party going on."

"But... but you're _clean!_ I hardly recognized you!"

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Haldir thinks it's a huge improvement but Arwen keeps saying she misses the unwashed rugged look."

"Trust me, it's a good thing," said Faramir. "You've helped purify the environment. If you step out into the backyard Boromir will show you to the refreshment tables."

The next ten minutes were pure agony. After Aragorn arrived, Pippin showed up with Merry looking oddly dejected, Sam showed up with Frodo and a kit full of stress medication, and Haldir showed up with Beregond right behind him. At this point Faramir was so uneasy he completely forgot every line of the poem he had memorized especially for Eowyn, and he nearly gave up hope when a loud knock sounded at the door, making him jump with surprise.

Only one person would knock in such a thunderous manner. Faramir eagerly pulled the door open and found himself facing Eomer, who glowered at him. "Sir, I'm going to need to see some ID!" Eomer barked.

Faramir blinked. "Um."

"Wait, wrong line. I mean, hey buddy. Nice party you've got here." Eomer slapped Faramir on the back, almost knocking him over, and headed for the backyard.

"Hi, Faramir," said Eowyn. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," said Faramir. "You look enchanting, fair lady. More graceful and stunning than the finest elf maiden."

Eowyn laughed. "You always amuse me with your strange compliments."

"I intend not to amuse, but to woo your beautiful self."

"There you go again. You ought to be a stand-up comedian or something."

Faramir's heart sank because Eowyn still didn't understand his intentions, but he supposed it wasn't so bad that she found him funny. "Let me escort you to the party," he said, holding out his arm.

Eowyn took it, and the moment her hand made contact with his arm Faramir nearly had a heart attack. She was actually _touching _him! It was the greatest moment of his entire life.

Meanwhile Boromir stood by one of the food tables and cast a worried look at Pippin, who had barely eaten anything since he arrived. "Hey, Pippin, are you sick or something? Normally you would have eaten half the party by now."

Pippin sighed. "I'm kind of depressed."

"Well that's not like you at all. Dad didn't make any weird threats to you at work, did he?"

"No, it's not that," Pippin said forlornly.

"Then what is it?" asked Boromir. "You're starting to scare me here, buddy."

Merry, who stood nearby swapping police stories with Eomer, somehow managed to overhear their conversation. "Pip's having lady trouble," he informed Boromir.

"Oh no," Boromir groaned, looking at Pippin. "You're turning into Faramir!"

"Thanks a lot, Merry," said Pippin.

"Just trying to help out, cuz."

"Girls are more trouble than they're worth, Pippin," Boromir said wisely. "Why else would I be single all this time? Here, have some mushrooms!"

Pippin cheered up pretty quickly after that.

"Mr. Frodo, have you tried the strawberries?" Sam asked. "They do a fine job of calming you and all. What about your nerves? Are all them people makin' you ill at ease? Do you need to go inside for a bit? Do you need your stress medication?"

"I'm all right," said Frodo. He was pale as usual, but his eyes roved brightly across the party guests. It was the first party he had attended in... years, probably, and he was actually enjoying himself. "I'm very ill, Sam," he remarked.

"You've been through a lot, Mr. Frodo."

"You're right. There was that time I was walking home at night and some lunatic dressed in black stabbed me and stole my wallet, for starters. And then there was the time that spider bit me and it got infected. And the time I visited the petting zoo and Gollum bit my finger off. Not to mention all the times my editor has frightened me."

"Those lousy villains," Sam muttered.

"Yes, well, I'm tired of being ill all the time. I need to take control of my life, Sam!"

"How do you expect to do that, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo smiled for the first time in days. "I'm going to take a break from writing."

Sam's eyes widened with shock, then he cried tears of relief.

"Care to donate to the Bird Lover's Society?" asked a wizard dressed in brown who had randomly wandered into the yard.

"Hey!" Eomer yelled. "I demand to see some ID!"

"Relax, that's just Radagast," said Faramir. "He lives down the street."

Radagast, the brown-clad wizard, started passing out fliers to the party guests. "Save the giant eagles!" he cried. "They're becoming an endangered species!"

"Let's hope this guy never meets Legolas," Haldir remarked.

"The day that happens will be a dark day indeed," said Aragorn.

"Radagast, why don't you go home and take your medicine?" Faramir said gently. "I'm sure the giant eagles will be fine."

Radagast stuffed some apples and bananas into his pockets when no one was looking, then headed into the street so he could tape his fliers onto tree trunks and telephone poles. The party went smoothly for about ten minutes, until Eomer found out that Pippin had eaten all the peaches and swore to massacre him, but all in all Faramir decided that things had gone right for once in his life.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Bonus points if you spot the Shakespeare quote!


	15. You Shall Not Pass

You Shall Not Pass

"Did you know my dad tried becoming a professional singer once?" Legolas told the tree he was still living in. "It was awful. He recorded an album and everything, titled _Nature Funk Beats_ or something ridiculous like that. He even called himself Thranny-D. It was humiliating!"

A breeze rustled a few leaves on the branch Legolas leaned against.

"Yeah, it was horrible beyond belief," Legolas continued. "Luckily Thranny-D's musical career didn't last very long because nobody bought his albums, so he went back to being Thranduil and drank more elven wine than ever. I tried sending him to therapy a few months after that. Have I told you that story? Anyway, therapy didn't work out because he tried turning every therapy session into a party. He even invited some neighbors and snuck a few kegs into his therapist's office!"

Legolas hung his head and sighed. "It's a good thing I've got the forest as my alternate family. I can always count on you to behave rationally, my leafy friend."

"Legolas, I dearly hope you aren't talking to that tree," said a voice down below. "If you are, then I'm going to have to ask you to stop."

Legolas looked down and found Galadriel standing at the base of the tree, holding a stack of papers in her hand while she gazed up at him coolly. "Galadriel, what are you doing here? And what are those papers for? Have you finally decided to spread the cause of tree rights?"

"No, of course not, you foolish elf," said Galadriel. "Celeborn has gone missing. I created some flyers and have been posting them all over the neighborhood." She held up a flyer, which portrayed a picture of Celeborn with the word "Missing" written above it. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well then. I suppose I'll have to carry on with my task."

"Wait," said Legolas, looking down at Galadriel in horror. "You aren't about to do what I think you're about to do, are you?"

"I don't know, Legolas. What exactly am I about to do?"

"You're going to put that flier onto this poor tree's tender bark! Galadriel, how could you? You're an elf! You of all people ought to understand that trees aren't like lamp posts or walls or other objects. They are living things, Galadriel, and they don't appreciate it when you try to plaster papers all over them!"

"I don't see how you can possibly stop me," Galadriel said calmly. "You're all the way in those branches, while I'm all the way down here, about to post this flier onto your tree's tender bark."

"Don't you dare, Galadriel! Don't you touch the delicate bark of this tree!"

"I'd like to see you try and stop me."

Legolas sat there in the branches, his eyes wide as he gazed at the flyer in Galadriel's hand. "Don't you dare," he repeated feebly.

"I'm going to do it," Galadriel warned.

She moved the flyer close to the trunk of the tree, but before she could post it onto the bark itself, Legolas leaped from the branches and launched himself at her, knocking the entire stack of flyers from her hands. "I told you not to do it," he said dangerously, standing above Galadriel with his hands on his hips.

Galadriel lay in an undignified heap on the ground, surrounded by scattered papers. "I will get you for this, Greenleaf," she warned.

But Legolas wasn't listening. He was on a new mission to cleanse the neighborhood trees of all paper products and other horrible forms of graffiti, and he wouldn't rest until he had saved every poor tree in the vicinity.

"Dad probably forgot all about that tree I was living in anyway," he told himself. "He forgot my own name for a whole week, after all."

After he pulled flyers off of all the neighborhood trees and held his nature hike, it would be time for a serious Daddy Issues meeting.

* * *

Frodo still wasn't used to sunshine. Yesterday's veggie party at Faramir's house was the first time he had ventured into the daylight in weeks, and as he walked outside his apartment he wished he had brought an umbrella, or perhaps a plastic tinted bubble, to shield himself with.

"I can do this," Frodo muttered to himself. "I can survive the outdoors!"

Riding the bus, however, was completely out of the question. Last time he tried riding a bus, he broke out in hives and Sam had to stay at his bedside for several days to make sure he didn't have a nervous breakdown. No, instead Frodo would walk to his destination, which thankfully wasn't too far.

Yesterday at the party, Pippin gave him the address of an elf named Arwen who wanted his autograph, and Frodo willingly scribbled his signature on a napkin he found next to Faramir's strawberry bowl. The old Frodo would have begged Pippin to deliver the autograph to Arwen, but he had transformed himself into the New-and-Improved Frodo, and the New-and-Improved Frodo was bold enough to go anywhere, except for shady gas station stores and The Dollar Cave, of course. There were some _strange_ dwarves who shopped at The Dollar Cave.

Fortunately the walk was not far, though Frodo began to regret his decision when he reached Arwen's house. The property was completely surrounded by a high black fence with an intimidating gate at the entrance, and to top it all off there were video cameras at every corner, watching Frodo's every move. What kind of house was this? Wishing that Sam didn't have an extra long shift at Wal-Mart that day, Frodo nervously approached the gate and could have sworn he saw a couple of black-suited figures lurking amongst the shrubbery up ahead.

"Um, hello?" said Frodo.

The camera perched next to the gate swiveled around to point at Frodo, and a voice came from an unseen intercom. "Who dares to tread upon my property?"

"Uh, it's just me," said Frodo. "The pizza delivery guy. Did anyone order a large pepperoni?"

"_Frodo Baggins_," said the voice, which sounded terribly familiar. "I hope you have that manuscript finished. I would hate to see you get whacked by one of my... associates."

Frodo was filled with dread as he realized that familiar voice belonged to Elrond, his editor. "Heh. Sure thing, sir. I've got the manuscript at home and I'll bring it to you in about an hour. Is there an elf named Arwen here, by any chance?"

"Arwen is my daughter," Elrond's voice said coldly. The dark-suited figures lurking in the bushes pulled out black objects that looked suspiciously like handguns. "What is your business with her?"

"I just want to give her my autograph!" said Frodo, trembling with fear. "I don't mean any harm!"

"Very well. You get ten minutes, tops."

The gate swung open and the black-suited figures, who Frodo suspected were Elvish gangsters thirsting for his blood, retreated behind the shrubbery. "Well I've gotten myself into a fine pickle and no mistake, as dear Sam would say," Frodo said to himself with a sigh. He trotted up the long driveway with his eyes alert, terrified that one of the gangsters would get trigger-happy and decide he wanted a hobbit head mounted on his wall, and as soon as he reached the door he slipped inside at the speed of light.

"What would Bilbo say if he could see me now?" Frodo murmured. "I wonder where he is."

Meanwhile, Bilbo continued to sail upon Cirdan's mighty ship, the_ Grey Haven_, and was having a swashbuckling good time as he swabbed the deck, hoisted the mainsail, and drank large quantities of rum while dancing a sailor's jig. "Yo ho, yo ho, an Elvish life for me!" Bilbo sang feebly as he tottered about the deck, hardly able to keep upright as the_ Grey Haven_ sailed through a mass of waves.

"Ahoy, matey!" Cirdan shouted. He pulled out his trusty spyglass and peered out into the ocean. "Thar be black sails up ahead! A ship is nigh upon us!"

"Black sails, my dear lad?" Bilbo croaked, squinting at the sea with his elderly eyes.

"Aye! A ship with black sails!"

"Oh dear, oh dear. And I assume it is crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil, Hell itself spat him back out?"

Cirdan put down his spyglass and scratched his luxuriant beard. "Perhaps so, matey. Perhaps so! Prepare the cannons and sharpen yer cutlass! The day any scurvy dogs take the_ Grey Haven_ is the day me beard falls out, I tell ye. Arr!"

"Yes, Frodo my lad," Bilbo mumbled absently. "Don't want any scurvy dogs in the garden, now do we? They'll get into the first of the mushroom crops!"

Cirdan ignored his senile first mate and decided to knock back a bottle of rum.

* * *

Legolas was strolling to Wal-Mart, whistling a tune to himself under his breath, when he came across a particularly beautiful tree. The only problem with this fine looking tree was the large and conspicuous flier taped to its bark, cutting off the poor tree's circulation. "Save the giant eagles?" Legolas cried, reading the words on the flier. "What is this nonsense?" He ripped the flier down and made sure to carefully recycle it, since Legolas was the last person on earth who would dare to throw a piece of paper into the trash. Paper was made from trees, after all!

Determined to take serious action in the name of trees everywhere, Legolas strode past the men, hobbits, and dwarves (gender unknown, as always, considering those pesky beards) who filled Wal-Mart's parking lot and hurried to the garden section, where his fellow nature lover Samwise Gamgee could be found. Sam's face lit up the moment he saw Legolas and he waved a cheerful hand in greeting. "Welcome to Wal-Mart, Mr. Lego—"

"The way is shut," Eomer growled at Legolas, interrupting Sam. "It was made by those who are security guards. And the guards keep it. The way is shut!"

Legolas blinked at Eomer. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I cannnot allow your suspicious pointy-eared self to cross this threshold."

"But you've checked my ID before! Don't you remember?"

Eomer paused, gazing hard at Legolas with intense eyes. "Of course I remember, but someone who is perfectly innocent one day can be a dangerous threat the next. I take my job _very_ seriously, Elf Boy."

"Perhaps a little too seriously," Legolas muttered.

"I heard that!" Eomer barked. "I'll have you know that I was hall monitor when I was in school, and I was the best hall monitor that place had ever seen. Some of the kids were in tears after I demanded to see their hall passes. In _tears_!"

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Eomer sir, but Legolas here is a friend of mine," said Sam. "And I know it ain't my place to say, but I think it's mighty unfair of you to—"

But Sam's words were useless, since Eomer was quickly distracted by a hobbit who tried to walk in with a suspicious amount of mushrooms stuffed in his pockets. "Wal-Mart will not avail you!" Eomer told the hobbit. "YOU... SHALL NOT... PASS!"

The poor hobbit wiped tears from his eyes and scurried back out to the parking lot.

"You see, Elf Boy?" Eomer said smugly. "I'm so serious about my job, they ought to make me king of the security guards."

Legolas, who had previously viewed Eomer with a mixture of confusion and pity, suddenly gazed upon him in awe. "You know, you're a very persuasive person, Eomer. So persuasive, in fact, that you're actually the kind of person I need on my Save the Trees campaign! How would you like to come on my nature hike tomorrow?"

"Save the Trees?" Eomer echoed, raising a disdainful eyebrow. "Why should I help save some meager plant life when there are poor horses out there who are starving? Have you ever considered the feelings and well-beings of those noble steeds? Horses are people too!"

"Yes, well there are many under-appreciated trees that provide apples for your beloved horses to eat," Legolas shot back. "And if we don't save the trees, then those starving horses will continue to go hungry!"

"Then consider me your ally," said Eomer, holding out a hand for Legolas to shake.

"It's a deal." Legolas shook hands with Eomer, but soon began wincing in pain due to Eomer's crushing grip. "Ouch! Do you have to grab my hand so hard?"

"Oops. Sorry." Eomer released Legolas' hand. "So who's gonna be at this treehugging shindig of yours anyway?"

"I'll be there, Mr. Eomer," said Sam. "And so will that peculiar ol' Tom Bombadil. I've got a spare set of earplugs you can borrow if he gets too tiresome. Oh, and Mr. Faramir will be on the hike too, bein' a vegetarian and all. Say, why don't you invite your sister along, Mr. Eomer? Then we'll have an even number!"

Eomer gruffly agreed to invite his sister, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself roped into.


	16. Send For Help

Send For Help

"Aragorn, is that _you_?" Gimli exclaimed as he approached the counter at Elf-in-the-Box. "Since when are you clean? And since when do you work here?"

"Since a couple of days ago," Aragorn said glumly, looking uncomfortable in his perfectly starched uniform. He glanced about with shifty eyes, then crouched down to Gimli's height and lowered his voice. "Hey, do you happen to have any rocks and soil you don't need? It's been over forty-eight hours since I last felt any dirt and it's driving me crazy."

"I'll see what I can do," Gimli whispered back. "I must say, it's very unsettling to see you like this. I had no idea your hair was actually so light, and you look so pale! I'd like to order a bite-sized lembas bread meal with extra ketchup, by the way."

Aragorn rang up Gimli's order on the cash register and nearly jumped out of his skin when Haldir appeared, clutching a book in his hand. "How goes your first day on the job?" asked Haldir, raising a cool eyebrow at Aragorn. "Have you been bored to tears yet?"

"No, but that shampoo your brothers forced me to use is irritating my scalp. I told you, I'm pretty sure Strider has an allergy."

"Now, now, Aragorn. What have I told you about your alter egos?"

Aragorn sighed. "They don't exist."

"Exactly. Now be a good employee and continue your shift. Now that you're working here I've got lots of time to catch up on my reading."

Gimli's eyes fell upon the book in Haldir's hand and he emitted a small gasp of excitement. "Is that _A Party of Special Magnificence_ by Frodo Baggins? I haven't gotten a chance to read that one yet!"

"It will be well worth it, my good dwarf," Haldir replied. "It's much more uplifting than Mr. Baggins' usual work."

"Indeed it is," said Galadriel, appearing out of nowhere. She cast a condescending little smile upon Aragorn, who felt left out of all this book talk. "It's nice being in the same room with you without wanting to stick my head in a vat full of air freshener, Aragorn. Though I still don't understand what my granddaughter sees in you."

Aragorn remained silent and decided that cleanliness was not all it was cracked up to be. All those soap and shampoo commercials he saw on television were clearly full of lies.

* * *

Frodo nearly had a heart attack the moment he set foot in Elrond's home. An elf wearing a dark suit and a matching fedora hat appeared in the entrance hall and patted Frodo down, checking him for weapons. "Boss's orders," he said when Frodo protested. "I'm Erestor, by the way. How'd a little shrimp like you get to know the Boss's daughter?"

"I... I don't know her, actually," Frodo stammered. "My cousin bumped into her and found out she wanted my autograph."

Erestor peered down into Frodo's face, giving Frodo a clear view of all the weapons concealed within his suit jacket. "Say, you'se the lousy little punk who's givin' the Boss all that trouble over a book or somethin', aren't you? Boy, you'se lucky you ain't full of bullet holes right now."

"Can I, uh, please see Arwen now?" Frodo begged. "This really isn't good for my nerves."

"Your nerves, eh? You oughtta see the Boss when he's in a mood. _That_ will give you somethin' to be nervous about."

Frodo was pretty sure he would need fifty kinds of medication, along with a solid day of therapy sessions, as soon as he made it out of this house alive. _If _he made it out alive. Why oh why did he have to become the New-and-Improved Frodo and find enough bravery to leave his apartment? Erestor led him up a flight of stairs, through a hallway filled with paintings of stern looking elves, all dressed in suits, until he arrived at the only door in the house that didn't fill Frodo with a sense of dread. He could see light coming out from under the door, for one thing.

"You get ten minutes with the Boss's daughter," said Erestor, pushing Frodo towards the door. "I'm settin' my watch, so if you go a minute over it ain't gonna be pretty, I can tell you that." He motioned his finger across his throat, miming a decapitation, and Frodo shuddered.

"Right," said Frodo. "Ten minutes." He pushed open the door to Arwen's room and quickly shut it behind him, eager to block out Erestor.

"_Frodo Baggins?_" said the dark-haired elf woman who stood in the room. "Is it really you?"

"Yes," said Frodo. He realized that the room contained a whole shelf full of novels he had written, and there were not one, but _three_ posters of himself on the walls. It was very unsettling. "Um, I believe you wanted my autograph."

Arwen took the autograph that was scribbled on a napkin and gazed at him with wide eyes. "I'm your biggest fan. I've read every single one of your books at least twice, I'm a faithful member of your fan club, and I'm already on the mail-order waiting list for your next book that's coming out in a few months! Can I take your picture?"

Frodo didn't get a chance to respond, because Arwen pulled out her camera and began snapping pictures anyway. The poor hobbit was starting to think that Erestor wasn't so bad.

"I'm planning to get your name tattooed on my back," Arwen said once she had taken enough photographs. "What's the name of your next book, by the way?"

"It's called _Where the Shadows Lie: a dark tale by Frodo Baggins_. But I'm afraid it may be a while until you get to read it, if you get to read it at all."

"Why? Do you have to switch publishers or something?"

"Well, no," Frodo confessed. "It's a little more complicated than that. I've decided to stop writing in order to improve my health."

Arwen stood frozen and appeared not to have heard Frodo properly. "I'm sorry. I could have sworn you said something, but I didn't quite catch it."

"I stopped writing," Frodo said a little louder.

"I beg your pardon? I don't believe you're speaking a language that I can understand."

"I... stopped... writing," Frodo said slowly.

"I still didn't quite hear you. I think you're mumbling."

Frodo was one step away from running out to Erestor and demanding him to do his worst. "I quit!" he exclaimed. "I'm done. Finished. My writing career has helped ruin my health and I just can't do it anymore!"

Arwen appeared to be on the verge of fainting. "You're joking. Please say that this is an elaborate joke in order to distract me from tying you to a chair and demanding you to give me spoilers from your next book!"

Frodo dearly hoped that Arwen herself was joking. "I'm afraid there won't be any new books. But I'm willing to sign all of your copies free of charge—"

Arwen sank to her knees and burst into tears, sobbing loudly enough for Erestor to hear from his spot outside the door. "Uh oh," said Frodo. He immediately dove out the open window and crash-landed into a clump of bushes, then sprinted for dear life and found a convenient hobbit-sized gap in the fence that allowed him to escape.

For the time being, at least.

* * *

"I'm going on a nature hike with Legolas tomorrow," Faramir was telling Boromir as they sat at the kitchen table. His father and brother had come home on their lunch break and Faramir ate his usual salad, while Boromir munched on a burger. "Actually, it's more like Legolas is forcing me to go, but Eowyn will be there. Once she sees how sensitive I am towards nature she'll love me for sure, won't she?"

"Of course, bro," Boromir said with no confidence whatsoever. "You'll woo her without a doubt."

"I sure hope so," said Faramir, sighing as he thought of his elusive lady.

"Faramir, quit talking," Denethor snarled from across the table. "I've got a text message I'm trying to focus on and your voice gives me a headache."

Boromir eyed his father's cell phone curiously. "Who do you keep texting with anyway?"

"No one. Just somebody I met over the internet."

"You really need to stop trying to replace Mom and give up on online dating, Dad."

"It's _not_ online dating, favorite son of mine," said Denethor. "Where would you get such a preposterous idea? Did Faramir put it into your head?"

"No, of course not," said Faramir.

Denethor looked up from his cell phone long enough to glare at him. "Didn't I tell you to stop talking, Faramir? Why can't you be more like your brother and stay silent when I want you to?" He returned to his phone and tried replying to the latest text message Sauron had sent him, but he found he was unable to. "Curses, I ran out of minutes. I hate Rohan Wireless. Faramir, you worthless son, why didn't you persuade me to get Elf-Mobile?"

"You never consulted me about it, Dad."

"Well of course I didn't. Your opinions are more useless than a dwarf without a beard."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Denethor ignored Faramir and tried to eat his burger, but his fingers soon grew restless and longed for the mindless rhythm of texting. "Boromir, my wonderful son, will you let me use your phone for a while? I have some business I need to finish."

Boromir shrugged and handed over his phone, and Denethor immediately neglected his burger in favor of talking with his favorite new friend.

_hey man i think all ur neighbors are out 2 get u,_ Sauron texted.

_rly? _Denethor replied_. no way!_

_tru fax, dude. you shud kill em all._

Denethor decided that was wise advice and left the kitchen table so he could terrorize the neighbors. Those evil looking lawn gnomes next-door were surely part of a plan to take over the whole neighborhood! "They shall be vanquished!" Denethor cackled to himself. "This street shall be mine!"

Faramir and Boromir exchanged worried looks. "Do you think it's time to send for help?"

* * *

Merry's life had definitely taken a turn for the better. Thanks to his recent promotion he _finally_ got to arrest people, and now that Pippin was living in his apartment there was an endless supply of beer and pipe-weed. Of course, Pippin tended to drink and smoke most of it, but Merry supposed his poor cousin deserved it when he had to work for a psychopath like Denethor. Speaking of Denethor, Theoden and his squad had been called to detain a man who sounded an awful lot like a certain car dealership owner; the lunatic was supposedly bent on burning down all the houses on his street and Merry was relieved he had been called on a Wal-Mart case instead. As much as he liked protecting the citizens and serving justice and all that, Denethor was not something he wanted to deal with.

Besides, busting criminals at Wal-Mart meant he could stock up on more beer. Though he would probably have to hide it if he wanted his twelve-pack to remain a twelve-pack in the morning.

He had been summoned to Wal-Mart to take a dwarf (gender unknown) into custody for assaulting an elf who insulted dwarf-made products, and approached the superstore with his gun at the ready. Pippin had recently joked that Merry's attachment to his gun meant he was compensating for something, but Merry retaliated by reminding him that nearly a week had passed and he _still_ hadn't gotten a date with Diamond.

Eomer stood guard at the entrance to Wal-Mart, arms folded across his chest in a menacing manner. "I demand to see your ID!" he barked. "Wait, never mind. Hey, bro. How's my uncle treating you now that you've got my old job?"

Merry prided himself on being one of the few people who could hold a civil conversation with Eomer. "He stopped referring to my height ever since I stopped that orc bank robbery last week. What about you?"

"The people around here are _idiots_," said Eomer. "Nobody seems to understand how unbelievably serious my job is."

"Tell me about it. Nobody takes me seriously until I've got a gun pointed at their face!"

"People in this line of work just don't get the respect they deserve. What is the world coming to?"

Merry agreed and was about to storm into Wal-Mart, ready to take custody of the violent dwarf (gender still unknown), when Eomer tensed up and went into Super Serious Security Guard Mode. "My shoplifter senses are tingling!" he hissed.

A hobbit girl walked out of the store and Eomer immediately pointed his taser at her. "Halt right there. I know you've stolen something!"

The hobbit stopped in her tracks and gazed up at Eomer. "Um, no I haven't."

"Are you calling me a liar? My instincts have been proven to be fifteen percent greater than a police dog's, so hand over the goods if you value your life!"

"You might want to listen to him," Merry told the hobbit girl. "I've seen him tackle a dozen orcs. The orcs were _crying_ afterwards."

The hobbit grudgingly pulled out the iPod she had concealed inside her clothes and handed it to Eomer, then started to walk off.

"Hey!" Eomer growled. "Don't let that thief escape!"

Merry acted quickly, knowing that an ambulance might have to be called if Eomer did any of his infamous tackling, and grabbed the hobbit so he could put handcuffs on her wrists. There was nothing he hated more than arresting his fellow hobbits, since most hobbits who got arrested were either a.) drunk, b.) not bright enough to know what they were doing, or c.) drunk, but he had to do his job.

"Take that, you lousy shoplifter!" Eomer cried, pumping a triumphant fist into the air.

"Come on." Merry guided the now-handcuffed hobbit in the direction of his police car, knowing that Eomer would gladly take care of the angry dwarf (gender infinitely undeterminable), and gently pushed her into the passenger seat.

"Is that security guard always such a psychopath?" she asked as Merry started up the car.

"You get used to him," said Merry.

"Would you mind taking these handcuffs off me?"

"I'm trying to drive."

"Take the handcuffs off and I'll drive _for_ you."

Merry was strongly reminded of Pippin and his endless chatter. "You'll get them off when we get to the police station. _If _you're lucky. What's your name anyway?"

"Estella," she replied, not-so-subtly trying to slip out of the silver handcuffs that circled her wrists. "If you let me go, I promise I won't tell anyone. After all, it was only an iPod, and it wasn't even the Touch version!"

Merry ignored her and drove up to the police station. It was only after he put Estella into the custody of his fellow officers that he realized she had somehow stolen his wallet.

"Son of a mushroom!"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Extra fast update this time around. Happy holidays, everyone!

I got multiple requests for some Merry/Estella, so there it is. I had quite a lot of fun writing that part.


	17. The Taming of Bombadil

The Taming of Bombadil

"Thanks for letting me stay with you, buddy," Celeborn said after taking a swig of elven wine. "I've had enough of that overbearing wife of mine, thinking that she's better than me. She may be manager of that stupid lembas restaurant, but she isn't the boss of _me_, I can tell you that right now."

"Right on, bro," said Thranduil. He was lounging around his house in his green bathrobe, with a crown of berries perched crookedly upon his head. "Who needs wives, anyway? Ever since the woman left me and Legoboy, I've been partying harder than I did when I was a bachelor. These days I feel a thousand years younger! There's only one problem with this afternoon we're having, Celeborn my man."

"What's wrong?"

Thranduil popped open another bottle of wine. "I'm not drunk enough!"

Four glasses of wine later, Celeborn was starting to forget that he had any marriage problems in the first place. "I love you, man," he slurred. "Did I ever tell you that you're the best elf a friend could ask for? Because you're the best elf a friend could ask for." Tears began to well up in his eyes. "Could you put some more glass in my wine, best buddy? Oh man, you are the _best_."

Thranduil patted Celeborn on the shoulder. "There, there, C-Man. I know I'm awesome. That's why I've got such a sweet groove at all hours of the day and night. It's a good thing the Legoboy hasn't been here the last few days. I think he's been at a sleepover, or planting flowers or something. Anyway, I know just the thing to put the spring back in your step, oh brother from another mother!"

Celeborn gulped at his wine and didn't notice that tears had fallen into his glass. "What is it?"

"Only the most _cool_-tastic, _awesome_-tacular album to hit the shelves, baby. The oh-so-groovy _Nature Funk Beats_ by the one-and-only Thranny-D!"

Thranduil pranced over to his CD collection, which housed a spectacular collection of albums such as _Death!_ by the band Riders of Rohan, _The Road Goes Ever On and On_ by Bilbo Baggins (during his youth, of course, when he had once been a dashing young hobbit of many talents), and the soundtrack to the popular musical _The Barrow-Wight of the Opera_. After blinking drunkenly at his CDs for about five minutes, Thranduil finally found his copy of _Nature Funk Beats_ and popped it into the stereo.

"All _right_, man!" said Thranduil. "It's boogie time, so shake it till you pass out!"

Personally Celeborn thought that _Nature Funk Beats_ was a terrible excuse for an album, but he was too intoxicated to be bothered much by the bad music and did as Thranduil said. It sure beat getting glared at by his wife, that was for sure.

"Awww yeah," Thranduil said as he thrust his hips to the music. "This is my favorite track, 'Greenwood Get Down.' Legoboy hates it, but I know there's secretly a groovy elf hidden deep down inside him. He just needs to hear the right beat in order to unleash his hip side, am I right, C-Man?"

Celeborn tripped over the coffee table and passed out.

* * *

"Such a beautiful day. The sun's in the sky! Not a cloud to be seen. Why, I wish I could fly!"

Eomer and Eowyn exchanged uneasy looks as Tom Bombadil sang this jaunty rhyme. It was true that it was a beautiful day, perfect conditions for Legolas' nature hike, and Legolas tried to get the small group organized as Sam and Faramir arrived on the scene. The "hike" actually consisted of trekking across some grassy hills, but there was all sorts of plant life that was just begging to be appreciated, according to Legolas. "Trees have feelings too, you guys," he explained. "They need to be acknowledged!"

"So do horses," Eowyn added. Eomer nodded vigorously.

"Right, the horses!" Faramir quickly agreed. "They're, uh, my favorite animals in the whole world. They've proved to be incredibly useful throughout the course of history and there is all sorts of literature that praises the noble steed and—"

"What fun it is to go on a hike! Much better than swimming or riding a bike!" Bombadil interrupted, prancing about in his yellow boots.

"Is he going to do that all day?" Eomer demanded.

"I was going to bring ear plugs, Mr. Eomer," Sam said sheepishly. "But poor Mr. Frodo thought they were his pills and swallowed them on accident. He was in a right state yesterday and no mistake, and all the beggin' and pleadin' and bribery of mushrooms couldn't get him to tell me what's wrong."

"Baggins is going mad, it's as plain as your face. Lock him up in a home, a nice padded-wall place!" Bombadil sang unhelpfully.

"Now you keep your mouth shut about Mr. Frodo!" Sam yelled. "You don't know nothin', you hear me? You don't know _nothin'_!_"_

Sam was ready to tackle Bombadil and rip him limb from limb, bright blue jacket and yellow boots included, but Legolas held him back. "No, no, Sam. We don't fight on a beautiful day like this one. We're gathered here to appreciate the natural beauty around us, and if you all donate five dollars you can contribute to the Plant a Sapling Fund! All proceeds go towards planting young trees in order to beautify our fine city. Now let's get moving!"

Legolas led the group towards the first hill, basking in the wonderful green glow of nature. He hadn't checked on his father in a while, since he had been too busy orchestrating tree rights movements, and he dearly hoped that Thranduil hadn't gotten dangerously drunk and set the living room curtains on fire. Again. Or ran through the neighborhood in just his bathrobe, without any pants on. Again. Or called up the local pizza parlor to sing a lengthy, drawn-out love ballad to them. Again. Or harassed the dwarves who lived down the street by threatening to chop off their beards. Again. Or—

Legolas wondered if he should put his father into a retirement home for the sake of everyone's sanity. He had heard great things about Rivendell Acres, until Bilbo Baggins escaped, of course.

"See that flower?" Faramir told Eowyn, pointing out a golden flower that grew upon the path. "You could gather a hundred flowers exactly like that one, and they wouldn't be enough to surpass your inextinguishable beauty!"

"Really?" sad Eowyn, looking flattered instead of amused.

Eomer stepped in between them so quickly, he nearly sent Faramir rolling down the hill. "How dare you speak to my sister in such a flirtatious manner! If I was duty right now I would have you tackled to the ground and restrained with manacles, you fiend!"

"Oh, meddling brother! What a terrible pest! Put a sock in your mouth and give them a rest!" Bombadil sang.

Everyone ignored the yellow booted man. Faramir wondered if Eomer could possibly be more terrifying than Denethor, while Eowyn glared at her brother. "Eomer, don't you think you're being a little harsh? Faramir has been nothing but polite ever since I met him, even if his jokes are a bit strange, and besides, he confessed to liking horses! You can't hate a man who says he likes horses."

Eomer glared back. "He's nowhere near as cool as Boromir. Why can't you talk to Boromir instead?"

"Are you and my father secretly best friends or something?" Faramir wondered aloud. "Because you're starting to sound an awful lot like him."

"Whatever," said Eomer, continuing to glower. "Just watch what you say to my sister, you carrot stick loving sissy."

"And over here you'll see a rare specimen of shrub, enjoying the sunshine while it waits for a rain shower to moisturize its roots!" Legolas called out with enthusiasm. "Please refrain from taking pictures. You don't want to startle it."

Bombadil viewed the shrub with his usual good cheer. "What a fine plant you are, a beautiful sight! It's too bad the elf is not very bright!"

Legolas didn't hear him and eagerly pointed out an extra green clump of grass.

* * *

"I hereby call this meeting of the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club to order," said Galadriel, striking her mallet upon Gimli's coffee table. "Now rumor has it that our favorite author has recently been out in the sunshine, a rare phenomenon that hasn't occurred for some time."

"It isn't a rumor," Haldir retorted coolly. "I told you, I saw him at Faramir's home with my own eyes. He was eating strawberries with unusual enthusiasm."

"Yes, well we mustn't dwell on Mr. Baggins' personal life. We are here to celebrate his brilliant work, after all. Leave the stalking and unseemly paparazzi to that dratted Fan Club. Now let's take roll."

Upon taking roll Galadriel realized that a dwarf was missing from their number. "Where's Gloin?"

"Dad received a drunken phone call at four o'clock in the morning," Gimli grumbled. "Some crazy elf threatened to douse his beard with kerosene and light it on fire. And then he threatened to kidnap his pet rock collection and hold it hostage down in his wine cellar. You have no idea how emotional my father gets over his pet rocks!"

"That drunken elf sounds an awful lot like Thranduil," Haldir remarked. "He is a disgrace to elves everywhere." Personally Haldir blamed that out-of-control, treehugging son of his. If Legolas didn't waste all his time running around trying to save the forest, he could find Thranduil a twelve-step program, or a support group, or at least some father-son bonding that would result in less wine consumption.

Haldir ought to rule the world. He would give fantastic advice to the countless idiots running around.

"Thranduil was banned from Elf-in-the-Box over a year ago," said Galadriel. "He jumped on top of one of the tables and began singing praises about our lembas bread. It wouldn't have been so terrible if it wasn't for the fact that he had no pants on. Yes, he _is_ a disgrace to elves everywhere."

"And he's racist!" Gimli growled. "What have the dwarves ever done to him anyway?"

"Aside from breathe loudly?" said Haldir. "Perhaps he just doesn't like beards. They _are_ unsightly."

"Well pointy ears aren't so fetching either! Do you ever have to sharpen them to keep them from growing dull?"

"Break it up, you two," Saruman spoke up. "I came to discuss the heart-touching work of the great Mr. Baggins, not listen to the differences between elves and dwarves. Now who else cried when they got to the end of _The Tales That Really Matter_? My beard was absolutely _saturated_ with tears when I was finished. It was just so beautiful!"

Haldir had discovered the two hundred and fifty-seventh reason why he was glad he didn't have a beard. It was probably no fun to have a beard soaked in tears. "How unfortunate," he said dryly. "Did you have to wring out the wet mop hanging from your face?"

Saruman didn't get a chance to reply, since Arwen suddenly entered Gimli's living room looking thoroughly depressed. "Grandma, I have the most terrible news," she said. Her eyes were rimmed with red and she hadn't bothered to pull a brush through her hair.

"What's wrong?" Galadriel demanded.

Arwen's voice trembled. "Frodo Baggins stopped writing!"

"He did _WHAT_?"

* * *

"If you look to your right you'll see some beautiful moss growing on that clump of rocks," Legolas announced as he continued to lead the nature hike. "If you get too close you might startle it, so please admire from a distance! And to the left you can find a pair of trees with a very rare type of bark in this area. This is a golden opportunity to see sights you can't find in your backyard, that's for certain."

Sam was the most enthusiastic of the group and gazed upon the sights with wide eyes. "Oh, I do wish Mr. Frodo wasn't so ill and nervous all the time. A view like this would do him some good, I swear on my old Gaffer!"

"Green, green, here and there! Leaves, shrubs, everywhere!" Bombadil sang with his usual musical input.

"Would you do us all a favor and shut that lyrical abomination you call a mouth?" Eomer growled. "I am one step away from finding some duct tape and silencing your trap forever."

"I'll sing all day, I'll sing all night! Try and stop me, I'll put up a fight!"

Eomer responded by shoving Bombadil down the hill they were standing upon. Bombadil went tumbling so hard, one of his yellow boots flew right off, and he feebly tried to keep singing as he rolled down the hill and into a ditch. "Well," said Eomer, feeling satisfied with himself. "Let's get a move on, shall we?"

"Well that beats using ear plugs and no mistake," Sam remarked.

Faramir had edged closer to Eowyn as Bombadil went rolling away, and the moment the yellow-booted man fell in the ditch he took her by the hand, not caring that Eomer was standing just a foot away. "Peace and quiet at last," he murmured, trying not to have a heart attack when Eowyn squeezed his hand just a bit.

"I don't know why I didn't realize it before, but I like you," she said.

Eomer cleared his throat in a menacing manner. "This is not acceptable behavior. In fact, it is downright obscene and I demand that it stop immediately."

Eowyn and Faramir both ignored him.

Legolas appeared completely unaffected by the turmoil of his companions, too distracted by the joys of nature. "Don't forget to donate to the Plant a Sapling Fund at the end!" he reminded everyone. "You'll feel better about yourself if you do!"

Faramir didn't hear a word Legolas said. Eowyn finally said that she liked him, and Eomer could go ahead and glare all he wanted.


	18. A Very Long Day

**Author's Note:** An update is never late. Nor is it early. It arrives precisely when it means to.

* * *

A Very Long Day

Pippin couldn't believe his good fortune. Denethor had gotten arrested for trying to burn down his neighbors' homes, which meant that Gondorian Motors had been temporarily shut down, which meant that Pippin didn't have to leave the apartment early (which often interfered with second breakfast) and go to work every morning. Of course, his parents and sisters would still consider him a Disgrace to the Family Name since he was employed by a psychopath, but Pippin was too busy imagining an endless amount of second breakfasts to care.

Except he still had that bet with Merry hanging over his head, and if he didn't get a date with Diamond before midnight, he would be out of second breakfast for a month. It was times like these when Pippin wondered if he really was a Fool of a Took.

He sat on the living room couch with a bag of potato chips in his lap, watching the food channel because he hoped it would motivate him to keep his second breakfast, when a knock sounded at the door. "I'll get it!" Pippin called out to wherever Merry was (probably in his room agonizing over his stolen wallet).

He opened the door and found a hobbit-sized figure wearing sunglasses, a hat, and gloves standing in the hall. "Um, I think you might have the wrong address?" he said, gazing at this strange person worriedly. Merry always told him not to talk to strangers.

"Pippin, it's me," the ambiguous figure whispered.

"Frodo?"

"Shh!" Frodo hissed, looking nervously to his left and right. "You have to call me Mr. Underhill in public, all right? I'm trying to keep a low profile."

"Why?"

"It's a long story. Sam is off on a nature hike with Legolas and I don't feel safe staying at home by myself. Can I hide out here with you and Merry for a while?"

Pippin secretly wondered if it was time to send Frodo to Rivendell Acres Retirement Facility. At the rate he was going, Frodo was likely to become as senile as Bilbo in just a few short weeks, and Pippin had been around Denethor long enough to recognize the signs of dwindling sanity. "Uh, sure," he said, shuffling out of the way so that Frodo could enter the apartment. "Why are you wearing gloves? It's warm outside."

"To hide my missing finger," Frodo replied. "It's more noticeable than you think, especially among my devoted readers."

Pippin was glad he wasn't famous, though he did wonder if sudden fame would earn him a date with Diamond. Perhaps he could write a book titled _How to Survive a Crazy Boss Who Likes to Set Things On Fire: 10 Easy Steps From a Real-Life Survivor!_ Except he would probably have to bribe Frodo to write it for him, and he couldn't imagine anything Frodo could possibly want aside from a new finger and a less stressful life.

"Do you have any tea?" Frodo asked as he busied himself with closing all of the drapes.

"We have tea flavored ale. Is that good enough?"

"Ale is bad for my nerves."

"Well, do you want to sit on the couch with me and watch the food channel?"

Frodo shook his head. "TV distresses me. I think I'll sit in a quiet corner and read a nice book."

Pippin stared at him for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself then. I'd better tell Merry he has another house guest."

Merry's bedroom door stood ajar and Pippin could hear his cousin talking on the phone, sounding frustrated. "What do you mean, you released her and told her to see a therapist? She has my wallet, with my ID card! How am I supposed to prove that I'm legally old enough to purchase alcohol?"

Pippin barged into Merry's room, completely ignoring his phone conversation. "Frodo's here."

Merry swatted him away and continued talking on the phone. "Well who's her therapist?"

"Frodo's here!" Pippin repeated loudly.

Merry grabbed a pillow off his bed and threw it at Pippin. "I'm on the _phone_," he whispered. "If that hobbit girl doesn't return my wallet I will sic Eomer on her, and I won't regret it. Tell Mr. Gandalf to keep her in his office until I get there."

Pippin kicked the pillow away completely undeterred, since he and Merry had a long tradition of pestering each other when one of them was on the phone, and he resorted to tugging on Merry's shirt sleeve. "You really should talk to Frodo. I don't know how to deal with him."

Merry ended his phone conversation with a sigh and tossed his phone onto the bed. "Pip, what are you talking about?"

"Come and see for yourself."

Pippin led the way back to the living room, Merry following behind him, and discovered Frodo sitting on a chair with a book in his lap. Frodo was not reading the book, however, since his eyes were riveted upon the television that Pippin forgot to shut off. A commercial advertising dog food blared on the screen and Frodo sat there with tears rolling down his cheeks as a puppy frolicked around in a grassy backyard.

Merry raised a concerned eyebrow at this scene. "Frodo?"

Frodo sniffled as more tears fell from his eyes. "Just look at that innocent little creature. So full of joy and hope! Such a sweet, pure little soul!"

Pippin had seen a lot of strange things since he started working for Denethor, but nothing could prepare him for the sight of Frodo Baggins weeping over a puppy commercial. He nudged Merry and whispered, "He's gone off the deep end a month earlier than you predicted. That means you owe me twenty bucks."

Merry handed over the money without argument and approached Frodo's chair, noticing the hat, sunglasses, and gloves that were sitting in a pile on the coffee table. "If there's anything wrong, Frodo, you can—"

"Mr. Underhill," Frodo corrected, looking alarmed. "Call me Mr. Underhill from now on. You don't know who might be listening." Having composed himself, he wiped away his tears and looked about shiftily, as if expecting an ambush to come out of nowhere. "I think I'll hide out in your bedroom closet, if you don't mind. The elves will never find me there."

Merry was rendered speechless, and Pippin wondered why he always got stuck with the oddballs. It was going to be a long, _long_ day.

* * *

Mr. Gandalf, the city's most highly rated therapist, took a drag on his pipe and blew smoke rings towards the ceiling of his office. "I assure you that these sessions are strictly confidential," he said. "No matter what you say in this room, I'll keep it secret, and I'll keep it safe."

Estella felt uneasy as she sat across from the wizard, wondering if jail was actually better than telling a stranger about herself. She still had that police hobbit's wallet in her pocket and she pulled it out, going through the credit cards, driver's license, receipts from Mushroom King, and membership card from Ales R Us, the alcohol superstore. Mr. Brandybuck may have arrested her, but the contents of his wallet would certainly be useful.

"What are we supposed to talk about?" she asked Gandalf, briefly looking up from a picture of two hobbits, one of them with a missing finger and the other one with a pipe in his hand.

"Judging from the fact that you swiped a paperweight from my desk when you thought I wasn't looking, I would say you have a case of kleptomania," Gandalf said after blowing another smoke ring. "Many that steal deserve plenty. Some that have plenty deserve to steal. Can you give it to them?"

Estella looked confused. "What?"

"When did this problem of yours start?"

"Well, I think it started when I was just a hobbit lass and took a basket of mushrooms from the grocery store. After that I couldn't stop, and now I just grab everything that isn't tied down, like this wallet I've got."

"I think you've had that wallet quite long enough," Gandalf said sternly.

Estella glared at him. "You want it for yourself!"

"ESTELLA BOLGER," Gandalf thundered, suddenly looking tall and ominous. "Do not take me for some giver of cheap advice! I am not trying to rob you! I'm trying to help you."

Personally Estella wondered if Gandalf needed some help of his own. She also wondered if he knew about the pens she had stolen from the receptionist's desk. Bored with the session already, she got up from her seat and tried to leave the office, but discovered that the door had been barricaded from the outside.

"You shall not pass," said Gandalf, chuckling warmly over his pipe.

* * *

Sam tried to be in a good mood after Legolas' delightful nature hike, but something at the back of his mind had been bothering him for days. He really ought to check on poor Mr. Frodo, but Frodo was bound to be fine as long as he had plenty of tea and sodium-free crackers at his disposal, and Sam caught a bus into downtown. The moment he arrived at his stop he found Gollum crouching on a street corner with a dead fish in his hand, using the animal as a microphone as he sang (or croaked, really).

"The fish goes ever on and on, down from the riverses where it begans!"

A donation box sat on the sidewalk next to a cardboard sign with the words _WILL SING 4 FISHES _scrawled on it in black marker.

"That hopeless creature," said Sam, shaking his head.

"We'd like to see fat hobbit try our songses, precious!" said Gollum, shaking a fist at Sam. "Oh, yes. Fat hobbit thinks he can judge us!"

Sam ignored Gollum and headed on up to an office located on the fifth floor of a nondescript building, then sat around reading an issue of _Better Holes and Gardens_ until the elf receptionist poked her head into the waiting room. "He's ready to see you, Mr. Gamgee."

Sam shut his magazine and entered the office of Glorfindel, the elf who got him started on doing commercials for Wal-Mart. Glorfindel lounged behind his desk wearing a flashy checkered suit and idly threw a dart at the dwarf-shaped dart board that hung on his wall. "Bulls-eye!" he said triumphantly. "Right in the middle of the beard!"

Sam cleared his throat. "Um, Mr. Glorfindel, sir?"

"Oh, hey there, Sammy my boy!" said Glorfindel. His grin was so bright that his teeth practically sparkled. "What can I do for you? Just give the word and it's all yours!"

"Well, I don't mean to sound ungrateful or nothin', and you've been a real fine manager and all, but I haven't been paid for none of them commercials I did."

Glorfindel's sparkly white smile began to falter, but he quickly hid it with a laugh. "Oh, Sammy boy. You hobbits are always dreaming up the most ridiculous things. Too much ale and pipe-weed, you know."

"Mr. Glorfindel, I don't think—"

"Now if you followed _my_ diet of mineral water and cucumber sandwiches, you would always have a clear head on your shoulders!" Glorfindel interrupted. "I didn't want to be rude when we first met, but you _could_ lose a little weight. The camera adds pounds, after all!"

"I don't have an ale and pipe-weed problem, sir. I know you ain't been payin' me and I—"

"Oh, you crack me up, little guy!" Glorfindel cut in again, chuckling loudly. "Have you ever thought of becoming a stand-up comedian? I know a place where I could hook you up on Tuesday nights."

"Now you listen here, you—"

"Oops! Got a busy day ahead of me! Where does the time go? You have a nice day, Sammy boy, and let me know if you want that comedy gig."

"I'll tell you where you can _shove_ that comedy gig," Sam muttered to himself as he marched out the door. "Who does that elf think he is? Not givin' a poor, hard-working hobbit decent wages. Why, I oughtta..."

Sam trailed off as he exited the building and stepped out into the street. Men, elves, dwarves, hobbits, and even a couple of orcs of all ages marched down the street carrying picket signs. One sign said, "Do the write thing, Frodo!" while another said, "Get Baggins out of retirement!" Another sign simply portrayed a heart ripped into two pieces, with the initials F.B. written above it.

"Frodo Baggins broke my heart!" said the elf carrying the sign. "If he doesn't start writing again, I'll have nothing to live for!"

Sam found that to be ridiculous, since the sign carrier happened to be an elf, but he was too distraught to spend much time shaking his head over the signs. "By the Gaffer's cabbages!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Frodo is in trouble and I'm the only one who can save him!" Forgetting all about his troubles with Glorfindel, he hopped onto the nearest bus and headed for home.


End file.
